


Threshold

by BrighteyedJill



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Adult Entertainment, Angst, BDSM, Coercion, Collars, Communication Failure, Developing Relationship, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Just talk? What a novel idea, Kink Shaming, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, Promiscuity, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-20
Updated: 2006-08-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 16:26:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 35,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1354003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrighteyedJill/pseuds/BrighteyedJill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg has a part-time job the other CSIs don't know about, and he really, really doesn't want them to find out. When the job intersects with a murder investigation, Greg will have to make some difficult decisions, and choose what's really important to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've taken many, many liberties with the legalities of adult entertainment. Just roll with it!

“Fifteen,” Greg counted as the belt stung his back again. The game was a familiar one, both to him and to the audience. The idea was not to lose track of the counting. It was harder than it sounded. 

Greg was bent over a table, naked except for a leather collar, standing with legs slightly spread to give the other performers better access. Javi was kneeling beneath the table, busying her talented mouth with Greg’s cock. Aaron, standing behind Greg, pushed a latex dildo in and out of Greg’s ass, speeding up or slowing down at unpredictable intervals. Lawrence, who held the belt, stood to the side of the table. He grinned at the audience before bringing the belt down again.

“Sixteen,” Greg called. He was good at this game; he was used to multi-tasking in the lab. But when Javi scraped her teeth gently against the underside of his cock, it did make it a little difficult to concentrate. He had to be careful. He was close to losing control, and he knew from previous performances that it was _very_ difficult to concentrate while having an orgasm.

“Seventeen,” he called when Lawrence struck him again. Aaron twisted the dildo inside him, searching for the spot that would send Greg over the edge. Greg worked to hold himself still; he wasn’t tied down for this game, and that was part of the challenge.

“Eighteen,” Greg shouted out, feeling smug, since he was only two strokes away from victory, when suddenly Aaron found what he’d been looking for. Greg jerked and gave an involuntary whimper, which Javi took as a signal to demonstrate her deep-throating skills. That did it; Greg was coming before he realized it, his whole body thrumming with pleasure lanced through with the pain from his back.

“Gabe,” Lawrence prompted him, using his stage name. “What are we on, Gabe?”

 _Crap._ Greg winced. Truth to tell, he wasn’t sure if Lawrence had hit him or not  
in the past few seconds. “Uh…”

“Sounds like he’s lost count!” Lawrence announced, and the crowd erupted in cheers and clapping. 

Aaron pulled Greg to his feet while Javi crawled out from under the table. “Vixen,” Greg whispered to her with a grin. She winked at him. 

Lawrence strode around the table and slipped a finger under Greg’s collar to gently pull him forward a few steps. “You know what happens when a slave can’t keep control, don’t you Gabe?” 

“Yes, sir,” Greg said with eyes downcast.

“They have to be punished.” The audience cheered again. Lawrence whispered something to Aaron, who disappeared backstage for some prop.

Lawrence selected a ball gag from a table of toys and other necessary items, and held it up for the crowd to see before placing it on Greg and fastening it into place. Then he turned and snapped his fingers at Javi, who crawled over and began sucking him.

Aaron returned with a padded barrel, and Greg knew what Lawrence had in mind. Greg let Aaron bend him backwards over the barrel, wincing slightly as his abused back made contact with the vinyl covering. Aaron fastened Greg’s arms and legs to fur-lined cuffs to hold them spread. Greg was one of the few on staff flexible enough to be comfortable in this position, and Lawrence used it every chance he got. 

Upside down, Greg could see half the club, from the bar over to the door, and dozens of bright eyes peering out of the semi-darkness, fixed on him. Some customers, of course, were busy with their partners, but even they looked up from time to time to take in the performance. 

The crowd gasped, and Greg knew that Javi was probably demonstrating some of her famous blow job techniques. Greg tried to relax while Aaron gently inserted two lube-covered fingers into his ass, scissoring them to help loosen the muscles.

By the time Aaron stepped away, Greg knew he was plenty ready for Lawrence, large as he was. Greg closed his eyes as Lawrence entered him, arching his back even more to show his eagerness. Then Lawrence began sliding in and out, going faster and faster.

Greg opened his eyes. The club owner, Meg, had once told him that being watched while watching a show was a turn-on to some people. “So open your eyes when you’re performing, honey. It’s hot.” 

When he opened his eyes, he happened to notice two men entering the club, silhouetted by the brighter light in the foyer. His eyes started to scan the rest of the crowd, then jerked back to the men. Didn’t he know those silhouettes? One tall and lean with kinky hair, the other a bit shorter with a buzz cut. _It absolutely can not be who I think it is,_ Greg thought. Then the pair took a few steps forward, into the light, and Greg could see their faces.

 _Oh my God oh my God oh my God._ Greg’s mind ran in little circles as he watched Nick Stokes and Warrick Brown sidle up to the bar. 

The cuffs didn’t have much slack in them, but Greg got Lawrence’s attention by kicking. Lawrence draped his body over Greg’s so he could see his face. Greg had been known to play at reluctance during performances, but this time Lawrence could see real distress in his eyes, so he reached down to undo the clasp on the gag and pulled it out of Greg’s mouth. 

“Safety,” Greg gasped. Lawrence got off of him immediately and came around the side of the barrel to undo the cuffs on Greg’s hands. A murmur ran through the audience when Lawrence helped Greg up, but they were soon distracted when Aaron and Javi moved to the front of the stage and began to do something that Greg could tell from the sound was, well, distracting. 

Greg let Lawrence help him backstage, then he pushed his coworker away gently. “I’m fine. Go finish the show,” he rasped. Lawrence hesitated a moment, then reluctantly turned away. Greg bolted for the dressing room.


	2. Chapter 2

Nick was super attuned to all things Greg: the smell of his aftershave, the sound of his voice across a crowded crime scene, the sight of his back disappearing around a corner. He noticed everything concerning Greg the way dogs hear whistles too high for the human ear. At least, that explained why Warrick didn’t see him. 

At first, Nick wasn’t sure it was him. He just saw sandy blond hair crazily askew, and it caught his eye. When he saw that it belonged to someone on stage who was being fucked—there was no other word for what was happening—by a tall black man, he _knew_ it couldn’t be his Greg. Then the man opened his eyes, and Nick realized that it _was_ Greg. 

Just then Warrick elbowed him in the side, and Nick turned to see his partner grinning at him. “Quit gawking, country boy,” he teased. “We’re on a case.”

“Uh, yeah,” Nick said. He managed not to look back at the stage while he followed Warrick to the bar, but his mind was racing.

The bartender was a tall, olive-skinned woman who probably shopped at the same place as Lady Heather. She looked thoughtfully at the two men as they stepped up to the bar. “Wait, wait, let me guess,” she said eagerly. “You,” she pointed at Nick, “are the top. Right?”

Nick coughed loudly, and Warrick shot him a withering gaze. “We’re from the Las Vegas Crime Lab,” he said.

“Even better,” said the bartender with a smile. “Did you bring your own handcuffs?”

“We’re investigating the murder of James Becker,” Warrick explained. He turned to his friend, only to see Nick staring at the stage again. “Hey, Nick.”

“Huh?” Nick turned back to the bar.

“Aw, let him enjoy the show, honey,” the bartender scolded Warrick. “I think Gabe’s one of the best subs we’ve got.” 

“I wasn’t—,” Nick protested, blushing.

“We wanted to ask you some questions about this murder,” Warrick forged on. “We think the victim was one of your, uh, patrons.” 

The bartender frowned. “What’d you say his name was?”

“James Becker.”

“Got a picture?”

“Sure.” Warrick elbowed Nick yet again.

“What? Oh, yeah.” Nick fished a photo out of a folder he was carrying and held it up for the bartender.

“Oh,” she said darkly. “Him. Listen, you should really talk to the manager about him.” She looked toward the stage, then back at the CSIs. “There’s also probably something you should see. Can you come back when we close at six?” 

“Miss, I don’t mean to be pushy, but time is really of the essence here,” Warrick said.

She shrugged. “Sorry. Come back in a few hours. I’ll tell the manager to expect you.”

Resigned to the fact that he wasn’t going to get any more information on this trip, Warrick turned away from the bar to see Nick staring off into the recesses of the club. “Geez, man,” he said, grabbing Nick by the arm and heading for the door. “You are useless tonight. When I come back, I’m bringing Grissom.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg's hiding something from his other boss, too.

Greg turned the shower all the way to cold and sank to his knees under the spray. _Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit._ He leaned his head against the cool tile, trying to slow his breathing. _Nick and Warrick just saw me getting fucked. What were Nick and Warrick doing_ together _at this kind of club? They can’t be… Maybe they didn’t see me…_

He jerked his head around when he heard someone’s footsteps entering the shower room, but he relaxed when he saw it was Meg, his boss. “Gabe, honey, are you all right? I saw what happened.” 

Greg turned off the shower, sat back against the wall and wrapped his arms around his knees. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. I just needed a time-out.”

“I know how that is. Anything you want to talk about?”

Greg shook his head.

Meg came closer and squatted next to Greg. “If it’s something Lawrence did, if he broke one of your rules, I wish you’d tell me.”

“Oh God, no. Nothing like that.”

“Nothing one of the clients did?”

“No. Listen, Meg. It was just me. I just… I saw someone come in that…” Greg trailed off.

“I get it,” Meg said softly. “Someone who wasn’t supposed to see you like that.”

Greg nodded.

Meg’s brow furrowed in concern. “Honey, you’re shaking.”

“Yeah.” Greg laughed nervously. “Adrenaline. And too much caffeine, probably.”

“Come on. Let me get your robe.” Meg pulled Greg to his feet, and he followed her into the dressing room. She grabbed his robe from where it hung on a labeled peg, and tenderly wrapped him in it. She sat him down while she went to get a towel for his hair, then pulled up a chair for herself. 

“If you were in trouble, you’d let me help, right doll?” she asked while Greg toweled his hair dry. “I mean, if there was some problem with the law? I couldn’t help but notice when those cops came in, you seemed-.”

“CSIs,” Greg corrected automatically. Meg raised her eyebrows at him. “I mean… How do you know they were cops?”

“Honey, they just look stiff. Plus they went right to the bar and started pumping Sheila for information. Didn’t even give her or any of the clients a second look. Although one of them seemed pretty interested in the show…” Greg paled at that, but if Meg noticed it, she didn’t comment. “So you’re not in trouble with the law?”

“No.”

“Are you a cop?”

“No!”

“Are you going to tell me why those men made you run away?”

“No.”

Meg sighed. “Okay.” 

“Gabe?” someone called from down the hall. Then, closer, “Gabe!” Lawrence burst into the dressing room, still naked and sweaty from his exertions onstage. He made a beeline for Greg. “Gabe? Hey, are you okay? I’m so sorry! Did I hurt you? Are you all right? What happened?”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Greg said, catching Lawrence’s hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’m fine. It wasn’t you, Lawrence, I promise. I just got freaked out. You didn’t do anything.”

Offstage, Lawrence was as sweet and insecure as his dom persona was stern and controlling. He gathered Greg in a bone-crushing hug, then let go. “I was so worried that I’d hurt you!”

Greg managed a small smile. “Funny, coming from a man who just gave me twenty lashes with a belt,” he said playfully.

“Only nineteen, and that’s not what I meant,” Lawrence said, returning Greg’s smile. “You sure you’re okay?”

“It’s under control, sweetie,” Meg assured him. “Go ahead and get cleaned up.”

Lawrence gave Greg’s hair a friendly tousle before he disappeared to the showers.

Meg stood up. “Listen, Gabe. If these guys are your problem, they’re my problem, too. You tell me if there’s anything I can do.”

Greg nodded gratefully. Meg kissed him on the cheek and headed back out into the club. _Thank God for her,_ Greg thought. _Now if I just had some idea of what I’m supposed to do about this…_


	4. Chapter 4

The club, the Power House, looked a lot different with the fluorescents on, and Warrick had no doubt that he never, ever wanted to see any of the surfaces in here under a UV. He and Grissom stood watching an employee clean the stage with a high-pressure hose while they waited for the manager to show up. 

“You were in here while a performance was going on?” Grissom asked.

“Yeah,” Warrick replied warily.

“Hm,” was all Grissom had to say to that.

“Excuse me.” The two CSIs turned to see a petite, plain-looking woman standing behind them. “I’m Meghan Wellington, the manager. I was told you wanted to speak to me.”

“I’m Gil Grissom, this is Warrick Brown. We’re with the Las Vegas Crime Lab,” Grissom rattled off. “We’re here investigating the murder of James Becker.”

“I’m sorry,” Meg said. “That name really doesn’t sound familiar.”

“We have a picture,” Warrick said, and held out the same photo he’d shown the bartender earlier. 

“Oh,” said Meg, looking at the picture. “Him.”

“So Mr. Becker was a client of yours?” Grissom asked.

“Not exactly. He auditioned for us.”

“Auditioned?” Warrick said doubtfully. 

“Yeah. Auditioned. He wanted to work here. His application looked good, so I wanted to see him in action,” Meg explained.

Warrick turned to Grissom, with a look that said _I’m afraid to ask._ So Grissom bit the bullet. “What did this audition entail?”

Meg suppressed a smile at his reluctance. “A short, private performance for some of the staff, with assistance from an appropriate staff member.” 

“But you didn’t hire him,” Grissom guessed.

“No.”

“May I ask why not?”

“See that?” she pointed a finger, tipped with a long, red-painted nail, at a sign above the door. “It says ‘fay ce que vouldras.’ It’s French.”

“Do what you will,” Grissom supplied.

“Very good. It was the motto of the first modern fetish club--.”

“The Hellfire Club, in England,” broke in Grissom.

“Oh I like him,” Meg said, winking conspiratorially at Warrick. “ ‘Do what you will’. All the men and women on my staff abide by this motto. They perform here because it’s what they want to do. There is a particular type of person who has the deep-seated need to exhibit him or herself as a dominant or submissive. James was not one of those people. That was quickly clear to me. In fact, I stopped his audition.”

“Why?” Warrick asked.

“It was on the way to being…” Meg considered her word. “Unpleasant.” 

\-----------------------------------------  
 _A murmur ran through the assembled staff as James demonstrated his skill with a whip. He applied just enough force to mark the skin without breaking it. Meg had to appreciate the precision. The man standing spread-eagle against the wall now sported a tidy line of red welts across his back and ass and let out a soft grunt each time the whip made contact. For a redhead, Jazz was remarkably easy-going, and a natural choice as a sub for “auditions.” He’d been on the Power House staff for six years: longer than anyone else, and Meg trusted him to handle a nervous auditioner safely._

_After one more lash landed on Jazz’s back, James snapped his fingers. The obedient sub abandoned the wall and sank gracefully to his knees in front of James. Meg winced in sympathy as the injured skin of his backside made contact with the soles of his feet. James tapped Jazz under the chin with the end of his whip to get the sub to look up at him._

_“Good,” James said flatly. “Now you get a reward.” He tossed a small jar of lubricant down to Jazz. “Prepare yourself.” Jazz dipped two fingers into the jar and leaned forward so he could work them into his ass, loosening himself up for the main event._

_James ripped open a condom wrapper and unrolled the latex sheath over his erection. Everyone at the Power House used protection until they passed their six-month STD quarantine, and Meg certainly wasn’t going to make an exception for an auditioner._

_“All fours,” James commanded, and Jazz dropped to his hands and knees. James knelt behind him. Meg barely had time to notice a look of confusion on Jazz’s face before James entered him, driving hard into the sub’s body with a complete lack of the finesse he’d shown earlier with the whip. Meg had a nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach when James reached out to put his hand over Jazz’s mouth, and the feeling grew when Jazz stopped moving his body in a natural rhythm and began instead to fight against the man on top of him._

_James pulled his hand away with a loud, “fuck” when Jazz bit him. The moment he caught his breath, Jazz called, “Stop.”_  
\----------------------------

“He put something in the lubricant,” Meg explained angrily. “Chili powder, probably, although I’ve heard of people using curry. It’s a dirty trick, and it’s excruciatingly painful. Some doms use it as a punishment. And some people get off on hurting someone with sex itself. I got the feeling James thought being a good dominant meant being able to inflict as much pain as possible on your partner.”

“So how did the rest of the staff feel about this?” Grissom asked.

“I won’t lie. Jazz was angry,” Meg said with a shrug. “So were some of the others. The guys can get pretty… protective. But the fact that I was sure as hell not going to hire this guy consoled them a bit. In any case, that was two weeks ago. How did you even know he was here?”

“He had the club’s business card in his wallet,” Warrick said. 

“We’re going to need a list of your employees: names, phone numbers, and addresses,” Grissom said.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Meg carefully. “No one on my staff killed this guy. I don’t mind if you question people here, as long as they’re willing, but my people use stage names for safety reasons. You can’t have real names without a warrant.” 

“If your people don’t have anything to hide, it would be much easier for you just to cooperate,” Warrick said.

Meg crossed her arms with an air of finality, and said, “Sorry.”

“Thanks for your time, then,” Grissom said. He turned and headed for the door. 

Warrick caught up to him. “You’re just going to abandon this lead?”

“Of course not, Warrick,” Grissom said. “I’m going to come back with a warrant.” 

Warrick stopped and turned back to Meg, who was watching them warily, her arms still crossed. He just shook his head, and for the second time that morning, Warrick walked out of the Power House frustrated.


	5. Chapter 5

For once, Greg wasn’t looking forward to work. They still hadn’t solved that murder, the one that had led Warrick and Nick to come snooping around the Power House, and the longer the investigation, the greater the chance that someone would figure out Greg’s connection to the place. He sat in his car in the parking lot with his music turned up, working up the courage to go in. 

“Everything’s going to be fine,” Greg whispered to himself, checking his reflection in the rearview mirror to make sure he didn’t look as awful as he felt. “Grissom hasn’t called to tell me I’m fired, so they couldn’t have seen me last night. But even if they had, maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world. 

“No. Do you think your coworkers would take you seriously if they had any idea what you do on your nights off? Do you? You don’t have their respect now. What would it be like if they knew your dirty little secret? 

“They’re not going to find out. Meg’s cool. And I’ll work really hard tonight. Blow the case wide open so there’s no reason for them to keep looking at the club. You’re talking to yourself again, Greggo. Get yourself together.”

Greg jumped practically out of his skin when Sara tapped on his window. “Jesus,” he muttered as he shut off the radio and got out of the car.

“Are you coming in?” Sara asked, concern in her voice.

“Yeah, no, I just--,” Greg stammered. “Singing along. Yeah. Just waiting until the song was over. Good song.”

Sara rolled her eyes at him and smiled. “Well come on. Don’t want to be late or we’ll get left out of the big murder investigation.”  
************

As it turned out, Sara wasn’t left out of the big murder investigation. She, Warrick, and Grissom left the lab to follow up various leads on the Becker case while Greg, Nick, and Catherine stayed behind to process the car of some bank robbers who were still at large. 

Greg tried to gauge whether Nick was acting strange, but either Nick was avoiding him or Greg’s luck was completely gone, because Catherine dragged them straight to the garage and hadn’t left them alone since. She was working on reconstructing one of back windows from shards of glass while Nick was out of Greg’s sight, digging bullets out of the back tires. That left Greg to process the interior.

Greg hadn’t found much on the driver’s side, but there looked to be some paper sticking out of the glove compartment. He moved to the passenger seat to get a closer look. When he opened the glove compartment, a grey liquid came spurting out, spattering the front of his shirt. “What the… Oh, yuck!”

Nick scurried around the side of the car, and Catherine stood up from the table where she was working to see what was wrong. “Freeze,” Catherine said sternly. “You’ve got evidence all over you.”

“Sorry,” Greg muttered. “How was I supposed to know the glove compartment was booby-trapped? Who does that?”

“Is that dye? Oil?” Nick asked, leaning in for a closer look.

“Well, what’s done is done,” said Catherine. “Get to trace; have Hodges cut that shirt off you.”

Greg blinked stupidly. “What?”

“Don’t want to risk contaminating it with your epithelials,” Catherine said. “Go.”

“But--.”

“Nicky had to get his shirt cut off after that wedding, remember? I think Wendy got a kick out of it.” Catherine chuckled. “Run along now. You and Hodges have fun.”

Greg wanted to protest, but Catherine had already turned back to her work. And anyway, what would he say? He stole a glance at Nick, but Nick wasn’t laughing. In fact, Nick looked very thoughtful. Too thoughtful for Greg’s taste. Greg left the garage in a hurry.

Greg’s mind swam as he slunk down the hall to trace. There was a reason he didn’t ever change his shirt in the locker room. His second job often left lasting evidence on his body, but it had always been possible to cover it up. Until now.

Hodges looked up from his microscope and scowled at Greg. “You haven’t brought me any evidence to process, so I don’t have any results for you,” he said testily.

Despite his nervousness, Greg couldn’t help but bristle at Hodges’ snarky attitude. “I’m bringing you evidence right now. My shirt. There’s some… stuff on it.”

“Stuff?” Hodges asked.

“If I knew what it was, I wouldn’t need a trace analysis,” Greg snapped, taking comfort in anger. 

“So you want me to cut off your shirt?” Hodges asked. “Man, everybody wants to be like Nick.” He sighed and rummaged through a drawer for a pair of scissors. 

“I can do this myself, actually,” Greg said. “In the locker room. No need to--.”

“Stop playing coy, Sanders,” Hodges said irritably. 

“Really. Not playing,” Greg mumbled.

“Yeah, well cutting your shirt off isn’t my idea of a good time, either.”

Greg tried not to squirm as Hodges ran the scissors up the side seam of his shirt. He put his arms out to the side so Hodges could cut first one sleeve, then the other until the shirt came away in a piece. Hodges held it gently to prevent the drops from smudging, and laid it out flat on the table before turning back to Greg.

Greg wasn’t sure how bad he looked. He knew he had old scars from where whips had broken the skin, or bites had left marks, but he wasn’t sure how much evidence was left from last night’s show: the belt stripes were probably still quite red. Maybe they could be mistaken for something other than the marks of repeated beatings. _Um, like maybe I could say I fell down some stairs? Yeah, right._

Hodges was staring at him. “Greg, what are those marks?” 

“Nothing. Forget it,” 

“They look like…”

“Like what?” Greg asked angrily, daring Hodges to accuse him of something. 

“Greg? I brought you a spare shirt.” Nick stood in the doorway staring intently at Greg, a t-shirt dangling from his hand.

Greg quickly stalked over to Nick, grabbed the shirt, and angrily pulled it over his head. He looked from Nick to Hodges and back to Nick as if debating whether to say something, then thought better of it and ran out without a word.

“What’s his issue?” Hodges said incredulously. “That kid does not look healthy. Maybe I should let someone know--.”

“Let someone know what?” Nick asked, suddenly moving into Hodge’s personal space. Hodges eyes grew wide as he took on the threatening look on Nick’s face. “You know nothing about him, so keep your mouth shut for once and stay the hell out of his business. If I hear anyone else say a word about what you just saw, I’m going to come looking for you.” Nick turned and strode away, then stopped at the door and turned back. “Catherine’s waiting for that evidence,” he said calmly, and left the lab.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg can't help himself. Neither can Nick.

Nick didn’t get a chance to talk to Greg the rest of the shift. When he’d come back to the garage, Greg was already back at work, processing the car’s interior. Nick’s spare shirt, which was tight on him, made Greg look like a little boy dressed in hand-me-downs. When Nick did manage to make eye contact, Greg either looked away quickly or pinned Nick with an angry death glare. Nick wasn’t sure which was worse. Eventually, Catherine had picked up on the tension between them and sent Greg to review the evidence from the primary scene. By the time Nick made it to the locker room at the end of the shift, Greg was long gone.

Now Nick couldn’t get to sleep. He kept seeing Greg standing in trace, his back red and scarred from what looked like a vicious beating, or serious of beatings, glaring at him and at Hodges. After a few hours of staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, Nick gave up, got out of bed and threw open his blackout curtains to let in the daylight. 

As he made coffee, an inkling of an idea began to tickle the edge of his mind. By the time he had downed his second cup of coffee, his inkling had become a full-blown plan. _Okay, yes, a terrible plan,_ Nick admitted to himself as he dressed and grabbed the truck keys. _Possibly the worst plan in the history of Nick’s plans. But fuck it. Just fuck it._

***************  
Work was good. Work was always good. Greg knew it was risky to come to work tonight, when the investigation was still open, but he had to. It was his form of stress relief, and he needed it now more than ever. He’d called Meg as soon as he’d finished his shift and asked if she needed anyone for the early show. She must have heard something in his voice that clued her in to his state of mind, because she’d told Greg he could work. He’d slept a couple hours, more because he knew he should than because he felt like sleeping, and come to work ready for some release.

When he walked in, Javi smiled at him from her make-up chair. “Hey Gabe! You get to work with the new dom tonight. Aren’t you excited?” She leaned forward and whispered mischievously, “His name’s Tiger.” She bared her teeth. 

Greg returned her smile and gave her the thumbs up before going to change clothes. _My lucky day,_ he reflected. _If performing with a new dominant can’t distract me from immanent catastrophe, nothing can._  
***************  
A show was already in progress when Nick came in. He found a seat near the back, and glanced around at the other patrons. Breathing a sigh of relief, he decided that he wasn’t as obviously out-of-place as he’d feared. There were some couples, but many patrons were alone. Even thought it was still early in the evening, some were dressed in fetish gear, some in evening wear, and some in casual clothes. _Looks like everyone enjoys a good bondage show,_ Nick reflected wryly as he turned his attention to the stage. _But that’s not why_ I’m _here. Really._

Nick had delayed looking at the performers until now, half hoping and half fearing that Greg wouldn’t be one of them. But he was. And this time, he was blindfolded. Nick breathed another sigh of relief and relaxed into his chair to watch.  
****************

Normally Greg didn’t like being blindfolded, but Tiger made it kind of fun. Greg was laid out on a padded bench, one short enough that his head hung back over one end and his ass hung over the other end. Tiger held a crop in one hand and was circling the bench, striking Greg’s chest or legs at random intervals and causing him to jump. Meanwhile, Greg was giving a thorough blow job to Lawrence, who had considerately knelt at the head of the bench to put himself at a convenient height. 

Every time Tiger struck him with the crop, Greg jerked. He’d wrapped his feet around the bench’s legs to keep from moving too much, but it was driving him crazy not to be able to see when the next blow was coming. He marveled at Lawrence’s trust in him; if Greg accidentally bit down, Lawrence could be in a lot of pain. That was part of the suspense in this game: Tiger and Lawrence were basically competing for mastery of Greg’s body. But, feeling as playful as he was tonight, Greg wasn’t going to make it easy.

Greg enjoyed giving head, and went at it with enthusiasm. He especially wanted to do something nice for Lawrence, since the man had been so nice about his calling the safe word during last night’s show. Greg reached back to grab Lawrence’s thighs and pull him in closer, burying the other man’s cock in his mouth all the way to the hilt.  
***************

 _It should be illegal for that man to suck dick,_ Nick thought as he watched his blindfolded co-worker work his throat around the kneeling man’s cock. He winced every time the other man struck Greg with the riding crop. He’d used crops before, on horses, and knew how much they stung. He couldn’t imagine how Greg could be staying as still as he was with that happening. 

But Greg’s naked body looked amazing displayed like that, muscles tensing with each strike of the crop to a new place on his skin. Nick felt himself responding, and flushed with momentary shame. _But did you come to a fetish club expecting to play chess?_ he scolded himself. 

He glanced surreptitiously around the club, and realized that many of the other patrons were putting on little shows of their own: some partners were engaged in more than heavy petting, and many of the men and women who were alone didn’t seem ashamed of demonstrating their appreciation for the show in a physical way. Apparently attending to one’s arousal was encouraged at the Power House. Nick didn’t have an exhibitionist spirit, but he couldn’t deny himself entirely. He discreetly eased one hand down the front of his jeans to grab his erection, and began pumping it slowly as he returned his attention to the show.   
*************

“Sheila,” Meg called to get the bartender’s attention. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“Yeah.” Sheila leaned against the bar and pointed at a dark corner of the club where a man sat watching the show. “I thought you’d want to know that one of those guys is back—the criminologists who were in here asking questions last night.”

“I told them not to come back without a warrant,” Meg growled.

Sheila winked at her boss. “I don’t think he’s here on business.”

Meg peered across the dark club at the man Sheila had pointed out. His eyes were fixed on the show, and unless that was a gun in his pocket--.

“I think he’s just here to watch,” Sheila said. “And do what it is our clients do.”

Meg bit her lip as she looked from the CSI to the stage and back again. “I think there may be a different problem.”  
***********

Tiger could tell from Greg’s hard-on that he was enjoying himself. He signaled Lawrence to back off for a moment while he ran a hand up Greg’s chest and pulled on a nipple. “Is there something you’d like to say, slave?” he asked, loud enough for the audience to hear.

“Please, sir” Greg whimpered, squirming.

“Please sir what?” Tiger asked with a smile.

“Please fuck me, sir,” Greg yelled.

Tiger turned to the audience. “Well?” There were various shouts and cheers of an encouraging nature from the audience, so Tiger turned back to Greg. 

“All right, Gabe. You may have your wish.” The audience continued to cheer while Tiger grabbed a condom and a bottle of lubricant from a supply table. Greg went back to attending to Lawrence while Tiger rolled on a condom and pushed two lube-covered fingers into Greg’s ass. Greg pushed back against Tiger’s fingers until he removed them and instead placed his cock at Greg’s entrance. “Well, Gabe?” he asked.

Greg momentarily took his mouth off Lawrence’s cock to gasp, “Please, sir, fuck me!” 

Tiger plowed into him sharply, causing Greg to moan. Lawrence shoved his dick into Greg’s open mouth, effectively silencing him. When Tiger began to thrust, Greg wrapped his legs around the dom’s back, pulling him closer even as he tightened his grip on Lawrence’s thighs. Being fucked from both ends, Greg was blissfully able to let go of conscious thought.  
**************

“See something you like?”

Nick practically jumped out of his skin as a woman stepped between him and the stage and proceeded to fix him with a very unfriendly glare. He hastily removed his hand from his pants, realizing that there was no way to conceal what he had been doing, especially with the hard-on still straining against his zipper. 

The woman pulled up a chair from a neighboring table and sat down across from Nick. “I told your boss not to come back without a warrant.”

“Uh… Oh.” Nick blushed furiously. “You’re the uh, uh-.”

“Manager,” Meg provided. “Did you bring a warrant?”

 _Shit._ Fear doused him like a bucket of cold water. Nick looked around the club, cursing himself for being a terrible liar. “No, I… uh…”

“What’s your name?” said Meg, leaning closer to the nervous CSI. 

“Nick,” he said miserably. “Nick Stokes.”

“Listen, Nick.” She scooted her chair closer. “Sheila says you took an interest in the show last time, too. And now you’re back.” Nick’s blush deepened. Meg nodded at the stage. “You know him, don’t you.”

“Yes,” Nick whispered.

“Fine. But listen close: you don’t know him as well as you think you do, or you wouldn’t be here spying on him and jacking off,” she growled. “Leave him alone, and take your investigation elsewhere. Got it, Nick?” Then she stood up and strode away, leaving Nick to stare after her in shock.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grissom looks for a suspect, and Greg gets some unwelcome news.

Grissom came to work early and locked himself in his office with the paperwork and pictures from James Becker’s murder spread out on his desk. The body had been dumped in a parking lot, but they hadn’t yet found the scene of the actual murder. And the evidence about Becker himself hadn’t been very helpful: he was single, employed as a legal assistant at a firm that had never had any problems with him, and drove his mother to church on Sunday mornings. 

The victim and the crime scene had nothing more to tell Grissom right now. Victim, crime scene, suspect: the evidence trinity. Grissom realized with a frown that if anything would crack this case, it would be evidence from a suspect. He needed to find a suspect. He picked up the phone on his desk and dialed a number from memory. Someone picked up on the first ring.

“This is the Dominion. How may I serve you?” asked a pleasant female voice.

“I need to speak to Lady Heather,” Gil said.

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“Gil Grissom.”

“One moment.” 

Instead of hold muzak, Gil was treated to a soothing voice speaking in a foreign language, accompanied by some sort of wind instrument. Before he could identify the language, the line clicked.

“Hello Grissom,” came Lady Heather’s voice.

“Heather. Interesting hold music.”

“Thank you. It’s Japanese Senryu poetry. Very soothing. To what do I owe the honor of your call?”

“I’m looking for some information. What do you know about the Power House?”

“Are you thinking of branching out?” she teased.

“I’m on a case.”

“Alright,” she said crisply. “It’s strictly high end entertainment. The owner’s one of my former employees. She hires clean, skilled people and puts on a good show. What else do you want to know?”

“The manager won’t give me a list of her employees’ names and addresses, and I wasn’t able to get a warrant for them,” Gil explained.

“Well, I wouldn’t give you a list of my employees without a warrant.”

“I know.”

There was silence on the line for a minute. “Are you asking me to pull some strings for you?”

“No,” Grissom said evenly.

“You had better have a wonderful reason for wanting to invade these people’s privacy,” Heather said warningly.

“One of them may have committed a murder.”

“May have?”

“The victim intentionally injured one of the staff members two weeks ago.”

“And?”

“Most of the staff witnessed it.”

“That doesn’t mean one of is your killer.”

“How would your staff feel if they saw, say, a client intentionally hurt one of their co-workers?” Grissom asked.

“A lot of clients intentionally hurt our staff. It’s part of the job description,” Heather said tartly.

“Isn’t there something taboo that a person could do to make your staff… angry?”

“Of course. Continuing a scene after the safe word has been called, ignoring previously specified parameters, something like that would get our girls riled up. Doesn’t mean one of them would commit murder.”

“I have… a feeling,” Grissom said with difficulty.

“I’ve been trying to get you to trust your feelings.” Gil could hear the smile in Heather’s voice.

“The list?” 

“I’ll see what I can do.”  
*****************

Greg felt like a new man after the show. He hadn’t felt this relaxed since Nick and Warrick had shattered his world by walking into the Power House. There was plenty of time before his shift at the lab started, so Greg took the rare opportunity to sit and gossip with the other Power House performers in the dressing room.

“How was Tiger?” Javi asked as she brushed her hair.

“Not bad,” Greg replied with a smile. “He’s got a way with a crop, though.” Greg pulled up his shirt to show Javi the marks on his chest.

She ooo-d appreciatively and reached out gently to touch one of the red welts. Greg winced, but held still. Jazz left off doing his make-up to come look over her shoulder. 

“Wait a sec,” Jazz said. He grabbed Greg by the hips and turned him around to look at his back, which was still impressively marked. “Honey, you shouldn’t let them beat you two nights in a row. It’s not healthy.”

Greg shrugged, a little put out. “I’m okay, really.”

“That’s a good way to go into shock,” Jazz said disapprovingly. 

“Leave the kid alone,” Javi said. “You sound like my mother.”

“Your mother told you to stop letting your doms beat you every night?” Jazz teased. Javi rolled her eyes at him and went over to her locker. Jazz turned his attention back to Greg and lowered his voice. “I mean it, Gabe. Don’t use this job to punish yourself.”

Greg stared at him. “I don’t--.”

“And anyway,” Jazz went on. “Lawrence is plenty creative. He can think of plenty to do during a performance that doesn’t involve beating.” He raised his voice to call across the room. “Right, Lawrence?”

Lawrence looked up from tying his street shoes. “Right. Whatever you’re saying about me is probably true,” he grinned. 

“Even that Tiger is going to steal the affection of your favorite sub?” Jazz said, winking at Greg.

“I’m not worried,” Lawrence said playfully. “Gabe will always be my boy, right?”

“Sure,” Greg said warmly.

“Are we gossiping about the new dom?” asked Lyla as she came in from the front of the club. “He sure put on a good show.” Lyla was one of the bartenders, but she was notorious for having a big mouth, which didn’t make her one of Greg’s favorite people. 

“Not gossiping, Lyla. Evaluating,” Jazz said. 

Greg picked up his duffel and was about to say his goodbyes when Lyla stopped him. “Hey Gabe—I hear you’ve got a cop boyfriend.”

Greg stared at her blankly. “What?”

“Cute, in a kind of boy-next-door way. Dark hair, not too tall,” Lyla explained. “He was here again tonight; I heard Meg talking to Sheila about him.”

Javi rushed over from the lockers and elbowed Lyla hard in the side. “Shut your mouth, you stupid cow,” she hissed. “Gabe--.” But when she turned to address him, he was already gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation doesn't go as planned.

Greg fumed as he steered his Jetta across town toward the lab. _They don’t have any right to invade my privacy like that. Sending Nick fucking Stokes to spy on me. Unless he came on his own.... And why would he? He didn’t act like he knew about this yesterday._ He took a corner at high speed, leaving the sound of honking in his wake. _Until he saw me in trace. Fuck. He had to know something was up after that. Hodges, too. Probably the whole lab knows by now, even day shift._

That thought made Greg grip the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. _So the laughing stock “CSI wanna-be” adds another item to the list of “reasons why Greg Sanders is a stupid fuck-up unworthy to work at our lab.”_ Greg realized that the lights of the strip were going by faster than they should and let up a little on the gas pedal. 

_Grissom can’t know yet. If he knew, he would have fired me last night. If it’s just Nick, maybe I can convince him not to tell anyone else._ Greg took a deep breath and checked to make sure he was back under the speed limit. _I’ll talk to him. Find out why he came to the club tonight. He can’t think that he can blackmail me into--._ Greg slammed the door on that thought before he could complete it. _We’ll just talk. Nice, calm discussion. Right._  
***********

 _Just be cool,_ Nick repeated to himself. _All you need to do is put everything out in the open._ He had left the club in a hurry after his confrontation with Meg, gone straight to the lab, and camped out in the parking garage waiting for Greg to show up. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but he couldn’t let things go on this way. It felt wrong to be hiding what he knew from Greg. _It’s not fair. Plus I bet he thinks I’m stalking him or something._

Nick’s heart skipped a beat when he saw Greg pull into the parking garage. After nearly an hour of waiting, he _still_ wasn’t sure what he was going to say to Greg. All he knew was that when a person cared about someone as much as he cared about Greg, everything had to turn out for the best. At least, that’s the way the world was supposed to work. _Everything will be fine,_ Nick told himself once more. But when Greg got out of his car and saw Nick, his expression turned dark almost instantly, and Nick suddenly wasn’t so sure this was a good idea.

Greg slammed his car door and strode toward Nick with a look of grim determination. _This is starting out well,_ Nick reflected. He took a quick look around the garage to make sure they were alone before Greg stopped a few feet in front of him and planted his hands on his hips. 

“Hi,” Nick said.

“What do you want?” Greg asked sharply.

 _Don’t screw this up, Nicky boy. Intervention. Remember your training. Be cool._ “I just want to talk,” Nick began. “You should know… I saw you at the club when Warrick and I went to investigate two nights ago.”

“You were there again tonight,” Greg said. It wasn’t a question.

Nick cringed involuntarily. “Yeah… I just… I wanted to make sure you were okay. When I saw your injuries, I--.”

“You have no right to spy on me,” Greg interrupted.

“I wasn’t spying. I just wanted to talk,” Nick said, frustration adding bite to his tone. “Was I supposed to pretend I didn’t know?”

“You were supposed to not know!” Greg snarled.

“What?” 

“If you really wanted to talk, you could have picked up a fucking phone. Instead, you came to the club just hoping that I would be there and we could _talk_?” Greg asked skeptically.

Nick took a calming breath and reminded himself not to get defensive. “Greg, I can’t help it now. I know that you work at this place. What am I supposed to think?”

“I don’t care what you think,” Greg snapped. He paused momentarily at the look of hurt on Nick’s face.

“But… I don’t get it,” Nick said, almost pleading. “How can you do something like that?” 

“How? Easily,” Greg said hollowly. “So easily. You have no idea.”

“No I don’t. I really don’t,” Nick said softly.

“No, you don’t,” Greg echoed. He took a step closer. “You don’t know me, Nicky. So just—leave it alone, okay? Forget you were ever at that club.”

“I can’t. Now that I know, I can’t just--. It’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous?”

“Yes,” Nick said. “You could get hurt.”

Greg shrugged. “I get to say what’s okay. My coworkers know my parameters, and they respect them.”

Nick looked like he’d rather not ask, but he choked out, “Paramaters?” 

“Parameters,” Greg said with an ugly smile. “Like no marking me above the shoulders or on the hands. No cutting. No burn marks. No choking.” Greg felt a little jolt in his belly as Nick turned paler with each word. He ignored it. “And anyway, I can stop it whenever I want. That’s what a safe word is for.”

“So you say the safe word, and they just stop. Just like that.”

“That’s right.”

“It’s not healthy, Greg.” Nick reached out gingerly to lay his hand on Greg’s shoulder. “I… I think I should tell Grissom.”

“Do you?” Greg asked, narrowing his eyes. He inched closer to Nick, so that they were belly to belly, nose to nose. 

Nick realized he was breathing faster. “Yes.”

Greg tilted his head to the side, leaning in, his lips almost brushing Nick’s. “Let me guess,” he whispered. “You’ll keep this a secret if I agree to have sex with you.”

“What?” was the most intelligent thing Nick was able to say.

“Well I’ve got news for you, Nick,” he spat the Texan’s name like a cure. “I’m not a whore.” He took a step backwards while Nick just stared at him. “So do what you think you have to. Just…” Greg shook his head and walked away, leaving a shocked and dismayed Nick to gape after him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dam is breaking.

_Maybe I’m going about this the wrong way,_ Greg thought as the stairwell door clicked shut behind him. The anger that had built up during his drive from the club began to drain away when Greg sifted through what Nick had actually said instead of what Greg was thinking he would say. _Crap._ To his great surprise, Greg felt his cheeks grow hot with shame as he realized Nick had probably been sincere. He struggled to hold on to shreds of justifiable anger. _Nick shouldn’t have come to the club to spy on me. Even if he was trying to help. If I was him, I would have…_ Greg paused to consider what he would have done if their positions had been reversed, and felt the last of his rage at Nick fade into a kind of tired exasperation. _He won’t tell Grissom. He’ll try to solve the problem himself. I hope._

Feeling less like either punching someone or vomiting, Greg made a quick stop by the locker room to stash his duffel bag before heading to the break room for coffee.

Catherine was already there. “Put your fancy coffee in a to go cup, Greg,” she said. “You and I have a 419 out in the desert. Grab your kit and meet me in the parking lot.” Sending up a silent prayer that the rest of the shift would be less eventful than the beginning of his evening, Greg went to get his kit.  
************

“I can’t believe you called me in early to come back to this place,” Warrick grumbled. “Remind me again why we had to do this before the shift started?”

“So we wouldn’t arrive in the middle of a performance,” Grissom said. He flashed his badge to get them past the doorman, and then they were squinting in the dim interior of the Power House. Before their eyes were adjusted, they were set upon by a very pissed off manager.

“You couldn’t get a warrant, so you resorted to blackmail?” Meg fumed. “The owner called me saying I was to provide you with this, no questions asked, and ‘cooperate with your investigation.’ If you think--.”

“May I see that?” Grissom asked serenely, pointing to the stapled stack of papers in her hand. 

Meg looked at Warrick. “Can I have a moment?” she asked. Warrick looked at Grissom with a raised eyebrow. “You can go talk to some of the staff,” she offered grudgingly. “They’re between shows.” Grissom nodded to Warrick, and he made his way toward the back of the club.

Meg motioned Grissom over to a corner of the club and held up the list. “Listen to me carefully, Mr. Grissom. If you read this list, you can’t un-read it. You’ll know what it says. And you’ll probably be sorry you know.”

Grissom narrowed his eyes. “Are you threatening me?”

“No,” Meg snapped. “I’m trying to help you. Please think about this.”

“I have,” said Grissom. He held out his hand for the list. Meg handed it to him, then stood, arms crossed, and watched him. It was clear she wasn’t going to leave, so Grissom looked down at the list and began to read. When he flipped to the third page, he paled. 

“I have to get back to the lab,” he said. He pushed the papers into Meg’s hands before rushing out of the club.  
*********

Archie was showing Catherine and Greg some video surveillance from a convenience store when Grissom pulled open the door to the AV lab, looking more than a little flustered. “Greg, my office,” he said, and left has quickly as he’d come. 

Catherine and Archie both turned curious looks on Greg as he stared after his supervisor. _Nick told him. Holy fuck. Gris knows. He knows. He knows._ He realized that he had better do something, so he laughed nervously. “Maybe I’m getting a pay raise,” he joked weakly. Neither Catherine nor Archie laughed. “Yeah.” 

Greg fled their sight, but stopped in the hallway outside Grissom’s door. _Maybe it has nothing to do with the Power House,_ he thought. Then he cursed himself for being such an idiot. _How could I possibly think that Good Guy Nick wouldn’t report me? Christ I’m a moron._ Greg took a deep breath and walked into Grissom’s office before he could lose his nerve. 

Grissom was behind his desk, massaging his forehead with one hand. “Sit down, Greg,” he said shortly. “And shut the door.”

Greg pushed the door closed, then walked up to Grissom’s desk. “I’d rather stand,” he said. 

Grissom shook his head. “Fine. I went to the Power House earlier tonight.” Greg said nothing. “The manager gave me a list of her employees. Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

Greg shifted his weight nervously. “No.”

“How long have you worked there?” Grissom asked.

“Two years, almost,” Greg said, and stared at the floor.

“And you didn’t think to tell me this because…?”

“How?” Greg asked with a shrug. “Hey, Grissom. Just wanted to let you know I work at a fetish club on my nights off. Oh, and here’s your DNA results.”

Grissom glared at him. “I’m not a political person,” he said softly. “But even I can see how this could be a problem for the department. If anyone found out--.”

“How _did_ you find out?” Greg interrupted. He realized, belatedly, that it was probably a bad idea to interrupt your boss when he was about to fire you, but he had to know. “Nick told you, didn’t he?”

Grissom looked puzzled. “Nick? No. I got the owner to gave me a list of her employees.”

“What? Meg gave--.” Greg shut his mouth with a snap, but he was strangely pleased. Nick hadn’t ratted him out after all. 

“You’ve put me in a difficult position, Greg,” Grissom continued.

“Are you firing me?” Greg asked dully.

“No,” said Grissom. “I’m putting you on administrative leave.” Greg nodded. “Temporarily,” he added gently.

“Okay,” Greg whispered. He turned to go, but stopped with his hand on the door. “Can you… Don’t tell anyone, okay?” he asked, unable to look his boss in the eye.

In that moment, Grissom saw how young Greg seemed compared to his other CSIs, saw the terrible vulnerability. He stood and started around the desk, but Greg wiped his face with the back of his hands and pulled open the door. “Call me when you need me,” he said with forced lightness, and fled the office.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dam breaks.

When he’d been a lab rat, Greg had found places to take a break where no one would come to bully him into getting their results. Now he rushed down the lab hallway to one of those hide-outs, half blinded by tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. He was in such a hurry he didn’t see Nick and Sara coming out of the print lab and almost ran into them.

“Greg, what-?” was all Sara had time to say before Greg had rushed past and turned the corner. 

Greg made it to his haven, a storage closet for lab chemicals, without any more delays, and slammed the door behind him. He sank to the ground behind a shelving unit, wrapping his arms around his knees protectively, and let the tears go. 

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,_ he repeated to himself. Two years he’d kept his secret, and it seemed unfair that even though Greg had been the very soul of discretion, had been so damn careful to cover his tracks, Grissom had found out because of a case. _Turns out one job really does influence the other,_ Greg thought bitterly. _Who knew?_

Greg tensed and held his breath when he heard the door open, hoping that it was a lab tech after a chemical refill. Then Nick’s voice gently broke the silence. 

“Greg? You in here?” He flipped on the light and saw Greg’s foot sticking out from behind a shelf. “Hey, it’s Nick,” Nick said, feeling a bit foolish. He shut the closet door and took a couple steps forward, until he could see Greg huddled up against the wall.

Greg glared at Nick with as much strength as he could muster. “Fuck off,” he rasped. 

Nick locked eyes with him silently. Greg looked away first, dropping his head onto his knees. Nick slowly lowered himself to the floor next to Greg, and put a tentative hand on his shoulder. It was then that Greg began to really cry, great heaving sobs that shook his body but were almost totally silent. Nick had known, from what he’d seen at the club, that his friend had a great tolerance for physical pain, but he realized now that Greg must have an even greater tolerance for emotional pain. 

“It’s okay,” Nick said softly, even knowing it wasn’t true, trusting that the soothing sound of his voice would have a calming effect. Greg continued to weep, hiding his face. Hoping that this would work as well as it did for shy horses and heart-broken children, Nick let his hand slide down Greg’s back to stroke gently, soothingly, and oh-so-carefully, with the image fresh in his mind of how sore this particular back had looked last night.

It had been so long since anyone had touched Greg, just touched him in a comforting way, and that was what Nick did now: there was nothing sexual about his warm hand rubbing little circles on Greg’s back. Greg found himself relaxing, his sobs fading into sniffles. He could sense Nick, a solid, comforting presence next to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look him in the eye. 

“I worked so hard for this job,” Greg whispered. “And I’m good at it, I know I am. But nothing… Nothing was ever enough. Not for my family, and not here.” He paused, and Nick felt him tense up again. “That’s why I had to. It’s un-fucking-believable.” He lifted his head to look at Nick, and Nick felt his heart tear at the hopeless look in Greg’s eyes.

“I couldn’t get respect for being a good scientist, for helping people, for being one of the best DNA analysts in the country. But I do get respect for being a good piece of ass.” He laughed brokenly. “Do you know that’s how I got the confidence to try field work? Working here made me feel like shit, but when I went to the club, when I let people beat me and fuck me, I felt better. I can get put down in the lab, Grissom can think I’m an immature fuck-up, but when I’m at the club, I submit by choice. 

“Every time one of you looked at me like I was a burden, like you wished I was back in the lab where I couldn’t screw up your cases, like you’d rather work with anyone else, I could go to the club and forget about how shitty that made me feel. After I failed my final proficiency, I went right to the club and begged Meg to let me do a show. She did. It’s not even about the sex. It’s about someone using you and hurting you on purpose and knowing you let them do it, knowing you asked for it. It’s something I can control.

“That’s why.” Greg took a deep shuddering breath and laid his head back on his knees, turned to the side so he could still see Nick. 

“I’m sorry,” Nick said softly. His hand still rested on Greg’s back, but he was so tense his jaw ached, thinking of all the heartache Greg had gone through. “I didn’t… I never meant to…”

Greg managed a weak smile. “Don’t apologize. I’m not ashamed.” Then his frown was back. “I’m suspended,” he said, as the thought occurred to him anew. He shook his head to fight off fresh tears. “At least he didn’t fire me outright.”

Nick furrowed his brow, puzzled. “Grissom?” Greg nodded. “Oh, damnit. Greg, I know I said I was going to tell him, but I swear--.”

“I know,” Greg interrupted. “I know. And thank you.” He stood abruptly, and Nick followed suit. “I should go.”

“Don’t go to the club,” Nick blurted out. Then he blushed when Greg looked quizzically at him. “I don’t want you to need that,” he explained. 

Greg shrugged. “I can’t help it,” he said, and headed for the door.

“Wait, please,” Nick said, moving to block Greg’s exit. “Give me a chance to help.”

“You have helped,” Greg said, staring at his shoes. “Really. But I have to go.” He dragged his eyes up to meet Nick’s, and waited patiently until the Texan stepped aside. “Thank you.”

Nick stood helplessly as Greg walked past him out the door.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Helping Greg is harder than Nick thought it would be.

Warrick strolled into Grissom’s office about half-way through the shift. Grissom looked quizzically at him, trying to remember what case he’d put him on. 

“Well?” Warrick asked, finally.

“What?” Grissom wracked his brain for clues… Nothing.

Warrick crossed his arms and glared at his boss. “Do I get an apology?” he asked.

Grissom frowned. “For what?”

“You left me at that club,” Warrick said slowly. “I had to call Catherine to pick me up on the way back from her scene. Where’d you go?”

Grissom sighed. “I had to take care of something,” he said, only a little sheepishly. “You find anything out talking to the performers?”

“Yes,” said Warrick, taking a seat. “That if I ever quit being a CSI, I could get a job at the Power House.”

“Anything involving the case, ‘Rick?”

“Yeah. Word on the scene is that James Becker didn’t stop trying to get a job after he failed his audition at the Power House.”

“He went somewhere else?”

“Several somewhere elses. It’s a tight community, apparently, so the Power House staff knew all the gossip,” Warrick explained. “They say he got turned down at the three major clubs in town, then tried to find people to hire him privately.”

“And?” Gris prompted.

“Two nights before the murder, one of the staff says they saw him at a private party. He was with someone. Wouldn’t tell me where this party was, or who Becker was with.”

“So…” Grissom furrowed his brow in concentration. “We need some evidence that will tell us where this party was, or who Becker’s date was, or we need some way to compel this witness to talk.”

“Good luck,” Warrick snorted. “The manager let them know how pissed she was that you got that list of names out of her. And the staff aren’t happy about having the cops look at their personal lives.”

“Too bad. We need this lead,” Grissom said. “Let’s start with the witness who was at the party.”

“Okay. Lance Sullivan, stage name ‘Lawrence.’ What do you want to know?”  
***************

Nick waved to Sara on his way out. He’d been distracted the entire shift after his conversation with Greg, but Sara had put some facts together to break the case and get them out of there at a normal time: no double shift tonight. Not that Nick was in any shape for a double. He felt almost sick over his conversation with Greg, and he was trying not to think of what Greg was probably doing right now. 

As he exited the stairwell to the parking garage, Nick was already making plans on how to distract himself. It was time for beer. And country music: the music of pain. Nick’s heart skipped a beat when he saw Greg’s Jetta still in its spot. Their conversation had taken place more than six hours ago. Had something happened to him? Nick picked up his pace, nearly running to the Jetta. There was no one inside. Maybe—

“Hey.”

Nick jumped and whirled around to see Greg standing behind him, hands in his pockets. “Jesus, G. You scared me.”

“Sorry,” Greg said. “I didn’t get a chance to apologize. For earlier. It was wrong of me to accuse you of… Well. I’m sorry.”

Nick shrugged. “You’ve been under a lot of stress.”

“I’m sorry,” Greg repeated.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Nick blurted out. Greg raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question. “And not… there…”

Greg’s face fell. “Yeah,” he said.

“I don’t want to, I don’t know, invade your privacy or anything, but… I thought you might want some company. I remember how much it hurt when I was suspended. Did you want to come over? Maybe talk about it?” Nick couldn’t believe he just said that. “I’ve got a comfy couch at my house. You’re welcome to it.”

Greg looked back at the lab for a moment, then at the ground. “I’ll follow you,” he said, and slid past Nick to climb into his car.  
*****************

Nick was mildly surprised to see Greg’s Jetta pull into the driveway behind him. He’d half-expected Greg to change his mind and head home or—worse—to the Power House. But there he was, climbing out of his car, clutching his duffel bag like a lifeline. He followed Nick docilely, and wordlessly, through the front door. 

“So, make yourself at home,” Nick said uncomfortably. Now that he had Greg here, he wasn’t sure what to actually do with his friend—Greg seemed oddly shell-shocked.

Greg dropped his bag unceremoniously by the door and headed for the couch. “Tired,” he said, curling up on his side. Nick watched in bewilderment as Greg’s eyes closed. 

“Okay…” Nick muttered under his breath, and retreated to his bedroom.  
************

The clock read 7:00. Nick stared at it, trying to figure out what had awoken him. He listened intently, but the silence told him nothing. Flinging the covers off with a sigh, Nick rolled out of bed. He was halfway to the living room before he remembered he wasn’t alone. Greg. For reasons he couldn’t begin to explain, Greg had come home with him. Greg Sanders was asleep in his living room. Or, he had been a few hours ago.

Nick stopped at the end of the hall and peered into the dark cavern of the living room. He couldn’t hear anything. He took a few steps in until he saw the silhouette of his friend sitting on the floor in front of the couch.

“Did I wake you?” Greg asked softly.

“No.”

Greg let his head fall back onto the couch. “I can’t sleep.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Greg shrugged, but he didn’t protest when Nick took a seat next to him. “I know how to deal with stress,” Greg began. “I have a method. It works. It’s worked since I was a teenager.” He turned to look at Nick, as if waiting for a prompt. When Nick said nothing, he continued. “When I was in high school, I started taking college classes. I was already taking a ridiculous course load, but my parents…” Greg shook his head. “Anyway, I was taking night classes at UCLA. All the material was easy, actually, but the pressure… it was intense. 

“I didn’t have a lot of friends, and this guy… He was in a lab section with me. He showed me some stuff.” Greg snuck a look at Nick, but there was no disgust in his face, just attention and polite interest. “I figured it out early. That sex was a great distraction. Not just sex, either,” he added quickly. “Sex is nice, but it’s something else… I tried to explain it earlier, but you don’t get it.” He looked Nick right in the eye. “It’s letting go of everything that should get me acceptance and success in the world. It’s being who I am when I’m naked and in pain and hard and letting another human being have total control over me. Does that make any sense?” 

Nick swallowed hard. It suddenly seemed very warm. “I’m not sure,” he managed to say.

Greg looked at him intently. “Will you have sex with me?”

Nick blinked cartoonishly several times before he could even form a word. “What?”

“You didn’t want me to go to the club. Fine. I didn’t go,” Greg said evenly. “I really believe you want to help me. So. I need your help. Fuck me.”

Nick’s heart tightened, and there was a definite stirring in his groin. He fiercely ignored both. “Greg, I would be so…” Greg settled back against the couch and waited expectantly. “If I thought you had any idea what it would mean to me…” 

Greg looked away. “You don’t want to.” 

The pain in his voice made Nick cringe. “Listen, Greg. I can do a lot of things, but I don’t know if I can be that for you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re hurting me now,” Greg said pointedly. He stood up and was halfway to the door before Nick could scramble to his feet and go after him. Greg picked up his duffel and turned to face Nick. “I appreciate that you’re trying to help. You’re really sincere, and that’s sweet.” Greg said the word like he meant the opposite. “But this is what I do. This is how I deal with things.”

“But you don’t have to--,” Nick began.

“Yes I do,” Greg said insistently. “If you can’t help me with this, then leave me alone so I can help myself.” He pulled open the front door and headed for his car. Nick, barefoot and in sweatpants and a t-shirt, was right on his heels. He’d be damned if he’d let Greg walk away from him twice in one day. When Greg popped the locks to get in, Nick dove for the passenger door and got in too. 

“Where’re you going?” Nick asked.

“You know where I’m going,” Greg said, jamming the key into the ignition. “Get out.”

“No.”

“Fine.” Greg slammed the car into reverse and peeled out onto the street. They drove in stony silence. It took all of Nick’s willpower not to clutch something as Greg sped down unfamiliar streets and took corners without touching the brake. 

When they reached the strip, though, they hit a traffic jam, and Greg had to slow down. Nick hoped he’d run out his anger a little. “Please don’t do this,” he said softly. 

Greg shot him an unreadable look, then opened the door and took off through the bumper-to-bumper traffic, heading for the crowds milling around the strip. “Shit,” Nick yelled. He flung his own door open, hitting the side of a Bema in the next lane. He ignored the owner’s shouts as he raced after Greg. Halfway across the street, a sharp pain lanced his foot, and he looked down to see a shard of broken glass digging into the side of his big toe. Hissing with pain, Nick grabbed the glass and pulled it out roughly, but when he looked back up, Greg had already disappeared into the crowd.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When talking isn't enough...

Nick limped through traffic, ignoring honking and the angry shouts of other drivers. He collapsed into the driver’s seat of Greg’s Jetta, leaning over to pull the passenger door shut in the face of a pissed-over Bema owner. He put the car back into drive and followed the crawling traffic until his first opportunity to turn off the Strip.

 _I let him get away,_ Nick scolded himself. _That’s what I get for being a gentleman._ He shook his head. _Or a coward… I’ve had two chances. Why can’t I just tell Greg how I feel about him? I am an idiot._ He guided Greg’s car back to his house, his anger at himself building the whole way. He parked the Jetta out front, changed clothes, slapped a Band-Aid on his toe, and grabbed the keys to his truck. He sat in the driveway, behind the wheel of his truck for a moment, staring at his watch. If he left now, he’d make it to work on time. There was no time for a detour: no time to look for Greg. _I am a complete idiot,_ Nick thought as he turned the truck toward the Power House.   
********

When Grissom pulled up to the club, Brass and Sophia were already there, leaning against their car and watching the chaos. He got out and joined them. 

“Did you find out who started all this?” Grissom asked. 

Brass shook his head. “No such luck. We’ll probably never know who leaked this to the press.”

Sophia gestured to one of the many signs visible above the crowd of protesters. “Burn in hell, adulterers?” She rolled her eyes. “I just don’t get why they feel the need to protest here, and not at any other strip bar or sex club in the city. I mean, as far as we know, no crime even took place here, right Grissom?”

“As far as we know,” Grissom confirmed. “But on the news earlier this evening, one of the leaders of the protest seemed to be making the argument that, what was it? ‘Letting sexual deviancy drag our society into a whirlpool of sin in which innocent lives are lost’ is a crime.” 

“Wow,” said Brass. “Someone’s got a great speech writer.”

“So where does this put the investigation?” asked Sophia.

Grissom sighed. “Nowhere good. We were hoping that there would be some evidence in there that would lead us to this private party Becker attended. I doubt anyone’s going to be feeling particularly charitable towards us after this.”

“Well, we’ll have to…” Brass trailed off and narrowed his eyes at the street behind Grissom. “Isn’t that Nick’s truck?”  
************

“Shit,” Nick swore as he saw his boss, Brass, and Sophia standing across the street from the club. “Damnit,” he added when he noticed the street was full of protesters waving signs. This was probably going to disrupt his plan for finding Greg. They’d already seen him, so there was no point in trying to pretend he wasn’t here. He parked behind Gris’s Tahoe and walked over to meet his coworkers.

“Hey,” he said as the three turned to meet him. “I heard on the scanner,” he lied.

“Uh oh,” Sophia said. “Careful, Nicky, or you’ll turn into Sara.”

“Ha ha,” Nick said. “How long has this been going on?” If things were just getting started, maybe Greg was already inside.

“Hours,” said Brass. “Apparently channel six had a story on the five o’clock news about how this club was part of a murder investigation.”

“Sex sells,” said Sophia.

“Well it hasn’t done our investigation any good,” Grissom sighed. “And if we want to get another crack at questioning the staff, we’d better find the manager and make peace.”

“Speak of the devil,” Brass muttered. Grissom turned to follow his gaze, and saw Meg Wellington snaking her way through the crowd toward them. He cringed.

“Mr. Grissom,” Meg said as she got close enough to speak to him. “Did you think that if you got the media to give my club bad press that I would be more willing to cooperate with your investigation? Bad plan.”

“Miss Wellington, I assure you that this wasn’t our intention,” Grissom began.

“I’m sure it wasn’t,” she said curtly. “Did you know two of my staff were attacked by these nuts?”

“What?” Nick squawked. 

“They left out the back after the early show, and some of these Family Values people jumped them,” Meg explained. “They’re on their way to the hospital. I hope you’re happy.”

“Are they going to be okay?” Nick asked.

“Probably. They’re pretty tough guys. And they’re used to pain.” Meg managed a weary smile. “But on the plus side, I’m closing down the club for the evening. You can look at whatever you want, talk to whoever you want. The sooner you solve this, the sooner my club will be out of the public eye.”

Grissom exchanged a surprised look with Brass. “Okay,” Grissom said. “Nick, you go talk to performers. I’ll call in some help.”  
*************

The mood in the dressing room was very subdued. The performers sat around talking, waiting for Meg to decide if the show would go on. Greg sat on the floor near the back door, staring into middle distance. Jazz noticed him brooding and came to sit beside him.

“Lawrence and Aaron will be fine,” Jazz said. “They weren’t that badly hurt.”

“I know,” Greg said. He’d witnessed part of the attack, and had been the one to call 911. “They’re tough.”

“Something else bothering you?” Jazz asked.

Greg fidgeted. “Why do you always have to try to take care of everyone?”

“So something is bothering you.”

“Yeah,” Greg said quietly.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea what it is, don’t I?”

“How would I know?” Greg asked, only halfheartedly snarky. 

“It’s that guy, isn’t it,” Jazz said. “The one that was in here. The cop. Or investigator or whatever.” Greg nodded. “So what’s the problem?”

“It’s either me or him. I think it’s me,” Greg said weakly. “I mean, I think I’m fucked up somehow.”

“Of course you are,” Jazz said immediately. Greg shot him an astonished look. “Who isn’t? Come on, this guy thinks he’s damaged goods, too, I bet.”

Greg smiled at the thought. “I bet not.”

“That’s why you shouldn’t gamble,” Jazz said. “What’s the problem, anyway? I mean, is he not into you enough? Too into you? Give me a hint.”

“I think it’s me,” Greg repeated. “We had a talk--.”

“A talk,” said Jazz sagely. “Always where drama begins. This is my advice—see, I don’t even need to hear the rest of the story. This advice always works.” Greg looked at him skeptically. “Really. Actions, baby. They speak louder than words, and they get you what you want a lot sooner. Think about it.” Jazz stood up. “I’m going to find Meg and see if we’re going on or what.”  
**************

Nick nursed his fourth beer of the night as he listened to the rain. He hadn’t gone back to the lab after he finished interviewing the Power House staff. There wasn’t anything to report, really: only a few people had been there to interview by the time he’d gotten to the locker room. The only person who’d witnessed the attack was already gone, and no one else had much to say.

So Nick had gone home, on the off chance that Greg would be there. He wasn’t. Nick had been ignoring his cell phone, since he wasn’t in the mood to explain his absence to Gris or the rest of the team. He’d quelled his guilty conscience by telling it that even he had to stop being responsible once in a while. In any case, he didn’t think he would be any use on a case just now. Greg hadn’t been at the club, he wasn’t here, and Nick wasn’t sure where else to look. So he sat in the dark and drank. 

He nearly choked on a mouthful of beer when there was a knock on the door. He hesitated over answering. If Warrick or someone had gotten worried about his not answering his phone, well… He still didn’t feel like talking, but he also didn’t want Brass breaking down his door. He heaved himself out of his easy chair and went to open the door. 

A gust of cold wind blew in with some rain drops, but Nick hardly felt them. Greg was standing on his doorstep, completely soaked. “What--?” Nick began, but Greg grabbed his face and kissed him, and all thought fled. When Greg pulled back, Nick gulped in air he hadn’t realized he’d been missing; he didn’t have long to recover. Greg pushed Nick inside, closed the door behind him, and wiped wet strands of hair out of his eyes. 

“Okay,” Greg said. “Let’s do this.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Can't talk. Busy."

Greg grabbed Nick firmly by the hand, pulled him into the room, and shoved him back onto the couch. It took Nick a moment to recover from the air being knocked out of his lungs, and by that time Greg had toed off his shoes and was pulling his wet shirt off. Before Nick could formulate a protest, Greg had stripped down to his boxers and climbed onto the couch, straddling him.

“Um, Greg,” Nick said nervously. 

Greg silenced him with a kiss, ending by gently biting Nick’s lower lip. “Not now,” he whispered.

“We need to—umph.” Nick was cut off when Greg yanked his t-shirt off over his head. “Talk,” he finished, a little frantically.

Greg slid off the couch to the floor and began to undo Nick’s belt. “Can’t talk. Busy.” He undid the buttons on Nick’s jeans; then he looked up to meet Nick’s eyes expectantly.

Nick took a deep breath, then lifted his hips up so Greg could pull his pants off. His boxers followed the pants, and Greg paused only long enough to remove his own boxers before climbing back on top of Nick. This time, he wrapped his arms tightly around Nick and laid his head on Nick’s shoulder, pressing their naked bodies together. Nick gingerly put his own arms around Greg and returned the hug. He tensed when he felt Greg flinch, and remembered Greg’s injuries. Quickly he loosened his grip, but Greg clung to him even more tightly. “It’s okay,” Greg whispered.

Nick gasped when Greg lifted his hips slightly and rubbed their cocks together. With Greg pressed against his chest, he could feel their breathing speed up together, and sparks shot right to his groin when he stopped to process the fact this was Greg naked on top of him. Greg thrust his hips forward again, and Nick arched his back up in pleasure, throwing his head back. Greg chuckled softly and rubbed his head against Nick’s shoulder like a cat. 

Nick moved one hand up Greg’s back so he could cradle his head and kiss him again. Greg’s tongue darted into his mouth, challenging and exploring, and Nick registered with distant surprise that he tasted faintly of cigarettes. Then coherent thought fled as Nick felt Greg’s hand snake between their bodies and squeeze together their swelling erections. 

Nick pulled away from the kiss so he could look at Greg. Even in the near darkness, he could feel the intensity of Greg’s stare. Greg held his gaze while he began to pump Nick’s cock. _If I’d known that just looking into a man’s eyes was this hot,_ Nick reflected, _I’d have done it a lot more often._

Greg continued staring Nick in the eye while he ran his thumb over the head of his cock. Nick shuddered in pleasure, and when he opened his eyes again Greg was watching him with a mischievous smile. Nick couldn’t resist kissing Greg again although, he reflected a minute later, between the kissing and the skilled hand between his legs, he wasn’t sure his brain was getting enough oxygen. 

_Time to even the odds._ Nick ran a hand down Greg’s side, making him squirm, then reached between their bodies to fist Greg’s cock. He was rewarded with a small gasp as Greg raised his hips to get more contact. It was Nick’s turn to grin as Greg pried his eyes open. With a growl, Greg attacked Nick’s mouth again, as if trying to melt himself into Nick. 

They rocked their hips together slowly as they stroked each other, until Greg broke their kiss to whisper “please.” His lips were almost touching Nick’s, and Nick felt the warm breath of Greg’s plea on his cheek. 

Nick pushed his hips up into Greg and wrapped his hand around both their cocks, pulling them together in a burst of exquisite friction. Greg shuttered and let out a high-pitched whine, and Nick felt warmth explode onto his chest. He, in turn, tensed and moaned as he reached release. Greg collapsed against him, and Nick let himself slide down to lie on the couch, pulling Greg on top of him.  
*************

Nick woke a few hours later wrapped in a Greg-shaped blanket. He smiled to himself, realizing that there was no way to get up without waking him. He shook his friend gently by the shoulder.

“Five more minutes,” Greg muttered.

“Come on, G,” Nick whispered. “I have to pee.”

“Wha..?” Greg said sleepily as he lifted up his head. Then his expression changed to alarm as he noticed Nick; he tried to sit up abruptly, but only managed to fall off the couch. “Jesus!” he yelled.

“Hey, woah woah woah,” Nick said, sitting up and watching Greg right himself. “What’s wrong?” he asked. He was developing a sharp pain in his stomach because he thought he might know the answer.

Greg shook his head as he climbed back onto the couch. “You know when you wake up and don’t realize right away where you are?”

“Yeah…” Nick said cautiously.

“I just… I thought I was dreaming,” Greg admitted with a smile. “I’ve never woken up with anyone before.”

“Oh.” The funny feeling in Nick’s stomach receded to a dull ache as he realized with a pang of sorrow what that statement meant about Greg’s previous love life.

“I need a shower,” Greg said. “But it’s your house. You can go first, if you want.” 

“Huh? No, no,” Nick said. “Texas hospitality. You have to go first.” 

Greg smiled. “Okay. Only to let you keep your nice-guy image.” He grabbed his boxers from the floor before heading to the bathroom. 

Nick watched him go. He waited until Greg was safely out of sight before he gave way to the goofy grin that had been building since he’d woken up and remembered what had happened. _I woke up with Greg,_ he told himself, just to give the moment the weight of words. He gathered his clothes from the floor and threw them in the hamper. When he went to the bedroom for his robe, he heard that the shower was on, and Greg was singing some rock song at the top of his lungs—badly.

Actually, Nick felt like humming himself as he shrugged into his robe and went to the kitchen to flip on the coffee machine. The hardest step was the first one. Whatever happened from now on, Nick could handle it. When the phone rang, he picked it up without thinking. “Stokes,” he said.

“Nicky!” It was Grissom. “Where the hell have you been? You weren’t answering your cell phone. You just left a crime scene and didn’t report back to the lab?”

Crap. “Yeah… sorry,” Nick said. “I was… I was…” He couldn’t think up any plausible lie. Hell, he couldn’t think up any lie at all. Double crap.

“Nick!” Greg yelled from down the hall. “Where do you keep your spare towels?” Triple crap. 

There was silence on the line for a moment. “Was that… Greg?” Grissom asked finally.

“Yeah,” Nick said. He could practically hear Grissom having an aneurism. 

“Could you—both of you—come down to the lab, if it’s convenient?” Grissom said slowly and deliberately. “Thanks.” He hung up.

Nick stared at the phone for a moment before replacing it in its cradle. Greg wandered into the room with a towel wrapped around his hips and drying his hair with another towel. “Couldn’t find your guest towels, so I just used what was hanging on that hook,” he said. Then he frowned as he saw the look on Nick’s face. “What?”

“That was Grissom,” Nick said. “He wants us both to go to the lab.”

Greg just nodded. “Well. You can’t go covered in come,” he said brightly. He tossed Nick the towel he’d been using on his hair. “Get cleaned up.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg has to answer some questions.

In the shower, Nick’s glowing good mood began to wear off, and he started to worry about what he’d done with Greg. _Wasn’t that exactly what I just told him I_ wouldn’t _do?_ Nick thought worriedly. _Just fucking?_ Coldness began to grow in the pit of his stomach. _He did seem awfully glib. But maybe that’s a good sign: he was acting more like funny Greg and not crazy fetish performer Greg. Or maybe that was just afterglow_ He quickly turned off the water, and was relieved to hear Greg singing from somewhere else in the house. He hadn’t run away yet. Reluctantly, he grabbed his robe and went in search of Greg.

Nick found him in the kitchen singing along to some god-awful rock station and frying eggs. “Hey,” he said. Greg didn’t stop singing, but winked at Nick as he flipped an egg.Nick smiled in spite of himself. “I never knew you could cook.”

“Cooking is chemistry that smells good,” Greg said with a grin. “Sit down. It’s almost done. I want to eat something before I face Grissom again.” Nick shut off the radio on his way to get plates out of the cabinet, and Greg rolled his eyes. “Why do you think he wants to talk to us, anyway?” Greg asked.

Nick set two plates down and leaned against the counter. “What exactly are we doing here?”

Greg froze for a moment, then began opening drawers, searching for silverware. “What do you mean?”

With a frustrated sigh, Nick pulled two forks out of the nearest drawer and dropped them next to the plates. “You know what I mean,” he said, and grabbed Greg’s wrist to stop his nervous movement.

“Would I have asked what you meant if I already knew?” Greg snapped and pulled away. Nick just looked at him. Greg shut off the stove and shoved the eggs violently onto the waiting plates. “What do you want to know?” he asked testily.

“What is this? Is this just… What you said the other day? Just…” Nick couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Fucking?” Greg supplied, grabbing one of the plates and heading for the kitchen table. 

Nick ignored the food and went after Greg. “Yeah, that,” he said. 

Greg sat down and stared at his eggs, and Nick felt his heart plummet. “No,” Greg said after a moment. “I mean, I hope not.” He looked up at Nick pleadingly. “Earlier… That was… nice. I mean, I don’t usually get nice. And that was nice. But…”

“But?” Nick sat down next to Greg, watching him intently.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Nick,” Greg said quietly as he shoved his eggs around the plate with his fork. “And I don’t want you to do something you’d regret.”

“Well,” Nick said slowly. “In the past couple days, I’ve learned some surprising things about you. But I haven’t seen anything that’s made me regret loving you.”

Greg looked up sharply at those words. “You… Oh.”

“Yeah.” Nick watched Greg closely, looking for clues to what he felt. _At least I got a chance to say it,_ Nick thought dejectedly as Greg struggled to come up with a response.

“I’m not…” Greg began hesitantly. “I can’t…”

“It’s okay,” Nick said quickly, giving Greg a reassuring smiled that revealed nothing of the sinking in his heart. “Don’t worry about it. I’m gunna get dressed.” Nick made a quick retreat from the kitchen, leaving Greg staring uncomfortably after him.  
*******

None of the other CSIs were at the lab when Nick and Greg got there, but the lab rats all gave them curious looks. Everyone had already heard about Greg’s mysterious “emergency personal leave,” and some of them had even gotten wind of Nick’s disappearance earlier in the shift. The guys did their best to ignore the stares as they walked in silence to Grissom’s office.

From behind his desk, Grissom nodded in way of greeting and motioned to Nick to shut the door. He waited to speak until they were both seated and watching him anxiously. “At this point, I’m not even going to ask why you pulled that little vanishing act tonight,” he said to Nick. “Or why you,” he looked at Greg. “Withheld evidence about a homicide.” Greg opened his mouth to protest, but when Grissom gave him a steely glare, he closed it again with a snap. “And I don’t care to know why you were both at Nick’s house.” Nick blushed.

“What I do want to know,” Grissom continued, “is who killed James Becker. So.” He fixed his eyes on Greg. “We need your help as a witness. I don’t want this to have to go on the record; we’re just looking for a way to find the evidence we need. If there’s anything you can tell us-.”

“I was at that party,” Greg broke in, staring at a point on the wall behind Grissom. “The one Lawrence told Warrick about. A couple days before Becker was murdered.”

“What were you--,” Nick began. “Never mind.”

“It wasn’t a date,” Greg said quickly. “We were… working.”

“What?” Nick yelped.

Greg squirmed in his seat. “Meg—the manager—lets us take on outside gigs, if it’s someone she can vouch for. The guy that threw this party hired Power House staff pretty regularly.”

“So you were there to…?” Grissom prompted.

“Entertain,” he said weakly, determinedly not looking at Nick. “So I was kinda busy. But I did see Becker.”

\-----  
 _Greg hissed as wax dribbled down his chest. Lawrence grinned slyly at him from under dark eyelashes. “Having fun?” he whispered. Greg just arched his back and growled sensuously. His motion wasn’t too limited for this performance: his hands were cuffed behind the column he was standing against. He wasn’t physically uncomfortable except for the room being a little too cold to be standing around naked. Lawrence’s ministrations seemed to be helping with that, though._

_While Lawrence re-lit his candle, Greg took a quick glance around the room. He and Lawrence were one of five couples who’d been hired to perform at this gathering. He could only see two of the others from his position, but their specialties were definitely… different from his. Guests milled around the large room, mostly in pairs: one dom and one sub. There were a few unattached dominants tonight, Greg noted, but they were in the minority._

_“Earth to Gabe,” Lawrence said playfully. Greg’s eyes snapped back to his partner’s face as Lawrence ran one hand down Greg’s chest to ghost his fingers over Greg’s erection. Greg tried to thrust his hips up to gain more contact, but Lawrence pulled his hand away. “Patience,” he crooned, and tipped the candle in his other hand to drip more wax onto Greg’s chest. An appreciative murmur ran through the small knot of onlookers._

_Before Lawrence could continue, there was a flurry of commotion from the other side of the room. Greg craned his neck to see around Lawrence, but he couldn’t see anything through the press of people. Then he heard an angry voice snap, “Stay away from him.”_

_Lawrence turned to see what the disturbance was about. He growled, deep in his throat, and muttered to Greg, “It’s that fucker who hurt Jazz last week. James.”_

_“Where?” Greg stood on his tip toes, trying to see over the people._

_“Shhh,” replied Lawrence._

_Just then a couple moved out of the way, and Greg could see what was causing all the fuss. A handsome, middle-aged man with a salt-and-pepper beard—a dominant, Greg guessed, if his proud bearing was any indication—had one arm wrapped possessively around the waist of a younger man, dressed in a leather collar and a very expensive-looking suit. The dom was shouting angrily at a third man: tall, with dark-hair and an ugly sneer. James, presumably._

_“That kind of behavior is simply not tolerated,” the first man was saying. His voice carried over the other noise in the room, which gradually died down as attention turned to this disturbance._

_Greg drew in a sharp breath as the host of the party, the man who had hired Lawrence and Greg for this occasion, glided over to the men and tactfully insinuated himself into the fray. Although Winston Savage was a wealthy man, he tried to stay out of the eye of the general public, preferring to spend his time—and money—on life in Vegas’s fetish community. Within the community, however, he was well known and respected. Greg had no doubt that Winston would quickly sort out whatever the problem was between his guests._

_“Gentlemen? Shall we have a little chat in my study?” he asked smoothly. The older man nodded curtly, turned on his heel, and strode away, presumably to the study. When he snapped his fingers, his sub, the man in the suit and collar, scampered after him. Winston gave the remaining man, James, a patient, inquisitive glance, and with a indifferent shrug, James followed Winston away._

_“I hope he black-lists that guy,” Lawrence muttered. Then he turned back to Greg. “Where were we?”  
_  
\--------

“I’m not sure exactly what happened between them. The other dom was pretty pissed. I didn’t recognize him.”

“We need to find someone who did,” Grissom said. “Where was the party held?”

“It’s a breech of etiquette to tell you,” Greg said unhappily. Grissom gave him a hard look, and Greg narrowed his eyes in return. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t. I just said it compromises my position within the community.”

“Community?” Grissom said skeptically.

“Yeah,” Greg replied with a touch of defensiveness. 

“So where was this party?” Nick interjected gently.

“I’ll draw you a map.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What else is there to say?

Grissom sat at his desk after Nick and Greg left. He was thinking. He was still thinking when Sara came in at the end of the shift to explain about the progress she had made that night on a B and E. He managed a brittle smile as she finished her recitation, and politely declined her suggestion of breakfast. He wasn’t hungry. He sat there until long after the sun was up. Then he pulled a piece of department letterhead out of a drawer and penned a memo. He signed and sealed it, and dropped it in the department mail. Only then did he go home. 

************  
Nick felt sick. 

He tried to keep his eyes on the road. The night had been an emotional roller-coaster. Since waking up today—or was it last night?—he’d rebuffed Greg’s advances, seen protesters outside of the Power House, skipped out on work, traded hand jobs with Greg, accidentally outed himself to his boss, had his declaration of love go unanswered, and sat through Greg’s description of his performance at a fetish party. He surreptitiously glanced over at Greg, who was riding shotgun, and inwardly cursed himself. 

_Greg probably thinks I’m just using him._ Nick tightened his grip on the steering wheel. _I said I didn’t want to be fuck buddies, but I let it happen anyway. I said there wasn’t anything I could learn that would make me regret loving him, than I act all weird when he talks about his job in front of Grissom. I am such a coward._  
************

Greg felt sick.

Nick had barely looked at him since they left Grissom’s office. He was worried he wouldn’t want to look at him ever again. _And after my great speechifying earlier tonight, who can blame him?_ Greg thought darkly. _I just yanked out his heart and stomped on it was all. I’m such a coward. Jazz gives me that pep talk about action, and then I fuck it up by not talking_ enough! Greg froze as a terrible thought struck him. _Nick probably thinks I’m using him. Shit._

When Nick pulled into the driveway, the two sat in silence for a moment. Nick turned off the ignition and dropped his hands into his lap. Greg fidgeted. _Okay, Greggo. Go for a balance of action and words. Happy medium. Don’t screw up again._ “Do you want me to go?” he asked finally.

“If you want to,” Nick said. Then he added, mores softly, “You can stay.”

Greg got out of the truck, and he heard Nick follow him. He didn’t even look at his car, but went right to the door and waited for Nick to unlock it.   
***************

Nick’s heart fluttered when Greg strode up the stairs to the door instead of heading to his car. Quickly he dug in his pockets for his keys; he had to get Greg inside before he changed his mind. When he had the door unlocked, he pushed it open and let Greg go in first. Nick flipped on the light, only to see Greg walking right through the living room and down the hall. Nick followed him. 

His breathing sped up when he saw that Greg had disappeared into the bedroom. He tamped down the lust that was welling up inside him. _I will not let us be fuck buddies,_ he told himself resolutely. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the bedroom, he saw that Greg had discarded his shoes and shirt and was working on his belt. Nick bit the inside of his cheek to focus himself. _Will not,_ he told himself again. He made his way over to the other side of the bed to switch on a lamp.

“Turn in off,” Greg said. Nick was surprised to find himself complying. 

Temporarily night-blind again, Nick heard rather than saw Greg’s pants drop to the floor, and Greg crawling into bed. When nothing more was said, Nick let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He went about his nightly routine: changing into sweatpants for sleeping, brushing his teeth, setting the alarm. When he couldn’t delay any longer, he stretched out on the bed, his back to Greg’s back, trying to give the younger man as much room as possible. 

As soon as Nick was settled, Greg sat up. Nick turned to see what was wrong, but Greg said nothing. He just walked around the bed and made an unceremonious shooing motion at Nick, who pushed himself further onto the bed. Then Greg crawled under the covers, settling his back against Nick’s chest. He pulled Nick’s arm around his waist, covered it with his own, and went to sleep. That was it. Nick lay awake a long time listening to Greg’s breathing before he, too, slept.

****************

Greg was awake for a while before he opened his eyes, trying to figure out where he was. He was in a strange bed, which wasn’t in itself unusual. But he was being held; a strong arm was wrapped around his waist. Greg allowed himself a smile: he couldn’t remember the last time he’d woke up being cuddled. Then he breathed in deeply, and remembered where he was. The spicy, musky scent of Nick was all around: on the sheets, on the pillows, and, now, on him. 

He was in Nick’s bed. That was Nick’s arm around him, Nick’s breath tickling the back of his neck… Nick’s erection hard against his ass. Greg slowly, carefully eased himself out from under Nick’s arm so he could sit up and see him. _He’s so damn handsome,_ Greg thought. _And a gentleman. Anyone else would have expected sex last night. Not my Nicky._ Greg frowned. _He’s not mine,_ he chided himself. _We haven’t_ really _had sex yet._

Greg laid back down facing Nick and just watched him: the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the shallow breathing and fluttering of the eyes. He was dreaming. _I wonder what he’s dreaming about,_ Greg thought idly. Then his frown returned. _He’s so good. Probably too good for me. But he’s special. He’s different from the others. Why can’t I tell him?_

Greg reached out to touch Nick’s face but stopped an inch away. He didn’t want to wake him yet. It didn’t seem fair, since he was evidently having such a good dream. Greg snuck a glance down to see that Nick’s erection was still tenting his loose sweatpants. He felt a stirring in his own groin, followed quickly by a wave of shame. _What the hell is wrong with me? It must be that something’s broken inside me, so I can’t even tell him I love him. How can he want someone so damaged?_

Just then Nick moaned in his sleep, still in the midst of his dream. Greg froze, listening. It had sounded like a word. Then he shook his head. He was just reading into things. Nick moaned again. This time Greg was sure he’d heard it. Nick had moaned his name. Nick was dreaming of him. 

Greg bit back a laugh as emotions swirled inside of him: pride, and gratitude, and joy, and lust. He sat up and quietly opened the drawer of the night stand. Inside, with a packet of Kleenex, a Bible, and some loose change, there was a box of condoms and a bottle of KY. Greg smiled. He discarded the boxers he’d left on last night, grabbed the lube, and began to prepare himself, all the while watching Nick moan and move in his sleep. 

At last, Greg returned to the bed, his head close to Nick’s on the pillow. “Nick,” he whispered. “Nicky. Wake up.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg steps over the threshold.

Nick was dreaming of the club. He knew he’d told Greg not to go back there, but he wasn’t mad. Greg was on stage alone, reclining on a small couch. His knees were spread wide, and he was leisurely fucking himself with a flesh-colored dildo. Every eye in the place was watching Greg, but Greg was staring straight at Nick. “Nicky,” he said, as he pushed the toy into himself. “Nick, wake up.”

Nick awoke with a start to find himself staring into Greg’s eyes: the real Greg was only inches away, sharing the pillow.

“Hey,” Greg said softly. He reached out and ran his hand through Nick’s short hair. “Nice dream?”

Nick couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so he reached down to pull the covers up. Greg grabbed his hand to stop him. With a mischievous smile, Greg pushed the covers back down, then reached for the waistband of Nick’s sweatpants. It was Nick’s turn to grab Greg’s hand. “No,” he said firmly. 

Greg stopped and looked at him. “Please?” 

Nick let go of his wrist. 

Greg slid his hand inside the sweatpants to wrap it around the warm length of Nick’s cock. Nick gasped: it had been less than a day since Greg first touched him, and already he’d forgotten how good it felt. 

Greg sat up, and kept watching Nick’s face to gauge his reaction to each movement of his hand. When Nick screwed his eyes closed, Greg quickly squeezed his hand around the base of Nick’s cock. Then he swung a leg over Nick, neatly straddling his waist. Nick opened his eyes to see Greg looking down at him. 

“What are you--?” Nick began.

“I helped myself to the stuff in your drawer,” Greg said cheerfully. He reached over to the other side of the bed for the packet he’d left there. He ripped the condom package open and rolled it onto Nick’s cock. 

“Hey, wait.” Nick braced his hands against Greg’s shoulders. “I want you,” he said shakily. “Really badly. But I want us to be more than fuck buddies.”

Greg smiled demurely and leaned forward to nibble Nick’s earlobe. “How about lovers?” he purred. “Can we be lovers?”

Nick’s cock twitched at that suggestion. “Yes.” He couldn’t seem to speak louder than a whisper. “That would be alright.” 

Greg again wrapped his hand around the base of Nick’s erection and raised himself up slightly. Nick realized what Greg was about to do a split second before Greg began to lower himself. He suddenly found it hard to breathe as the tip of his cock was enveloped in Greg’s warm tightness. Greg continued to lower himself slowly, painfully slowly, until Nick had to fight the urge to grab him by the shoulders and pull him all the way down. 

Nick reached up to clamp his hands onto Greg’s waist. “Please,” he moaned. 

“Please what?” Greg asked. 

“Please,” Nick repeated helplessly.

Greg dropped himself the rest of the way in one smooth motion, burying Nick to the balls inside of him. He and Nick gasped almost in union. Greg stayed still for a moment to give his muscles time to adjust, then he leaned forward to kiss Nick. Nick returned the kiss hungrily until Greg pulled away. “Is this okay?” he asked. Nick just nodded. 

Greg sat up and again raised himself until only the head of Nick’s cock was still inside him, then slowly began to lower himself. Nick growled. “Patience,” Greg laughed. He worked himself leisurely onto Nick’s cock until he was fully impaled. Then he rolled his hips back and pulled himself up again. Nick wanted to scream from need. It felt so damn good, and yet it wasn’t enough. If Greg would just--.

This time, Greg raised himself almost all the way up, and thrust back down quickly, catching Nick by surprise. Then Greg yelped and his muscles clamped down. Nick had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from coming right then, but he knew Greg had found the angle he’d been looking for.

Greg braced his hands on Nick’s chest and began to lift and lower himself in a faster rhythm, fucking himself up and down along the whole length of Nick’s cock. Nick drunk in the sight of Greg: his eyes closed, chest heaving with labored breath, legs trembling from muscle fatigue and pleasure, a little whimper each time Nick hit that special spot. It was an intoxicating sight. Nick wanted someone to share it with. 

Nick released one hand from Greg’s waist and wrapped it around his cock. Gregs eyes flew open and he stared at Nick, mouth slightly open. Nick began to stroke Greg’s cock in time with Greg’s up and down rhythm. As Greg neared his climax, his muscles milked Nick, and with a load groan, Nick came hard. Greg reached his hand down to cover his lovers’, and they stroked together until Greg, too, came with a groan. 

Reluctant to let Nick withdraw from his body, Greg stayed straddling him and slowly catching his breath. Nick ran his hands up and down Greg’s thighs, then reached around to squeeze his ass, enjoying the physical reality of being with such a fine man. 

“Where did you learn how to do that?” Nick asked after several minutes of silence.

Nick felt Greg tense up. He didn’t say anything, just shrugged, and delicately climbed off of Nick. He grabbed two tissues from the nightstand, and wiped come off his chest. He had deftly removed Nick’s condom before Nick realized what he was doing, pulled on his discarded boxers, and headed to the attached bathroom. 

Nick heard water running in the sink. It was hard to think when his brain had turned to jelly. _Probably shouldn’t have asked that particular question,_ Nick reflected. _Monumentally insensitive._ The water had stopped, and Nick thought he heard something else. He sat up and listened hard. Yup. He definitely heard that. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, tucked himself back into his sweatpants, and walked into the bathroom.

Greg sat on the floor, leaning against the tub. Tears ran down his cheeks as he stared straight ahead. He looked up quickly as Nick appeared in the doorway, and to Nick’s surprise, he leapt to his feet and flung his arms around him. Nick let out a small “oof” as Greg squeezed him; he seemed to be holding on for dear life. 

“Please don’t leave,” Greg said shakily.

“I’m not leaving,” Nick said, and gently wrapped his arms around Greg. “This is my house.”

Greg pulled away just far enough so he could look Nick in the eye. “You’re being intentionally dense. Me. Don’t leave me, Nick,” he said. 

The edge of desperation in his voice made Nick want to wrap him tightly in his arms, so he did. “I won’t, love,” he said. “I won’t leave you.” Greg’s tears were wet on his shoulder as they held each other. Nick could feel Greg’s heart pounding against his chest, fast, but getting slower as he calmed down. 

“You started this,” Greg said after a moment. “I think I can finish it, but I can’t do it alone, and I can’t stop.”

“I’ll help,” Nick promised. It was his turn to pull away so he could see Greg’s eyes. “I’ll be with you.” Greg responded with a watery smile. Nick gently tugged him back toward the bedroom, and Greg followed passively. Greg climbed onto the bed first, then patted the empty spot next to him to indicate Nick should join him. Greg waited until Nick had stretched out to snuggle back against him. Nick wrapped his arm around Greg’s waist, and they both returned to sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grissom continues the investigation of James Becker's murder, and Greg is unsure.

Nick’s alarm went off, blaring country music. Greg poked Nick once gently, then harder until the Texan swatted the alarm.

“Is there time for more sleep?” he muttered.

“I’m suspended. I can sleep all I want. You go to work.”

“Don’t wanna,” Nick complained, nuzzling his head against Greg’s shoulder. 

“Go solve the case at the club so I can come back to work.” Greg turned over to look at Nick. “I want to go back to work at some point. With you.”

“As long as you come home with me afterwords.” Nick regretted the quip as soon as it was out of his mouth. This was all too new, too delicate to be making jokes about commitment. 

But Greg responded by darting in for a kiss, and Nick breathed an internal sigh of relief. Too soon, Greg pulled away and gave Nick a playful swat on the ass. “Go to work,” he commanded.

Nick gave a moan of complaint, but he rolled out of bed and headed for the shower.  
**************

Grissom was surprised that Winston Savage had agreed to come “have a bit of a chat” with him. He hadn’t even brought his lawyer. Grissom left Catherine instructions for case assignments, then joined Brass in interview room four. 

Winston Savage was much as Greg had described him: handsome, impeccable, and positively smelling of money. He stood when Grissom walked in, and Grissom had to hide a smile as Brass rolled his eyes. “Mister Grissom, I gather?” Winston asked, extending his hand. Grissom nodded as they shook hands, vaguely surprised that Winston spoke with a British accent. “Captain Brass and I were just having a little talk about the gathering I had last week.”

“Right,” said Brass. “And about the people at that… gathering.”

Grissom took a seat next to Brass. “So, would you mind telling us about the altercation James Becker was involved in?” 

“Well I must say I’m not sorry the man’s dead,” Winston said. “Saves me the nuisance of having to not invite him to future gatherings.”

Brass exchanged a glance with Grissom. “Why’s that?”

“He caused rather a large scene last week,” Winston explained. “It was a matter of propriety, you see. The social circles I run in have certain rules. These rules help everyone get along. James didn’t understand why such rules were necessary. From what little I knew of him, he seemed an impulsive young man.”

“Did he do something impulsive at your gathering?” Grissom asked.

Winston leaned forward. “Now you see, normally I think it’s terrible form to discuss what goes on at a social gathering,” he said confidentially. “But I think in certain cases it’s best the truth come to light, don’t you?” He sat back in his chair. “I was keeping my eyes on him from the first. He’d not been my guest before, so I wanted to make sure he did nothing indecorous.”

_Winston nodded to a passing couple as he descended the front staircase. So far, the party was going swimmingly. He was pleased with the entertainment he’d hired. Meg’s boys were in especially fine form tonight. He made a mental note to ask her if he could negotiate for other services from that submissive. He paused for a moment on the bottom stair to survey the ballroom. The catering staff seemed to be doing an excellent job keeping to drinks flowing. Lady Anita was on the other side of the party from Lady Katya, so no trouble there yet. Now if only--._

_A sudden movement caught his eye, and his attention jumped to two men standing on the near side of a pillar. One of them was that new young man Peter had asked him to invite. Some common name—Jack, or Jim, perhaps? James, that was it. The other, younger man wore a collar that marked him as a submissive. Winston couldn’t see his face, but there was only one slave here tonight in a suit that expensive, and that slave belonged to Anthony Graham, co-owner of the Luxor._

_Winston walked briskly toward the couple. When he got closer, he noted with irritation the look of panic on the sub’s face. James had one hand holding the back of the sub’s collar, and the other hand clumsily groping the front of the sub’s pants. Before he was close enough to address them, Anthony Graham appeared out of nowhere, grabbed his slave by the arm and pulled him away from James. “What’s going on here?” he snapped._

_Winston stopped and waited. James’ next move could determine if there would be trouble, or if James was sufficiently adept at social and political maneuvering to belong to this particular community. James gave Anthony a disarming smile and said, “We were just getting to know each other. I think your boy likes me.”_

_The slave made a distressed little whimper in the back of his throat, and Anthony wrapped one arm around his waist. “You must be mistaken,” Anthony said firmly. “I think you had better find someone else to talk to, young man.”_

_“I like this one,” James sneered. He took a step forward and grabbed the slave by the wrist. “So what’s the harm in letting us get acquainted?”_

_Winston shook his head in disappointment and went to defuse the situation just as Anthony pulled his slave away and shouted,” Stay away from him,” rather louder than Winston thought was necessary. “You’ve no right to touch what’s mine.” Winston picked up his pace, but as other guests turned to stare, the trio seemed further away than he’d like._

_“That kind of behavior is simply not tolerated,” Anthony was saying when Winston finally arrived on the scene._

_“Gentlemen,” he interjected smoothly. “Shall we have a little chat in my study?” He waited to make sure that James and Anthony, and the slave, of course, would follow before leading the way to his private study. He gestured to a servant for a round of drinks before perching in an armchair by the fire. He addressed Anthony first. “Let’s have a sit,” he said soothingly, and took the brandy his servant proffered. Anthony took a chair on the other side of the fire and his slave knelt beside him. Winston took a moment to appreciate the grace and skill it took to kneel without wrinkling that Armani suit. James stood near the door, and refused a drink when the servant tried to hand him one._

_“Now, I’m sure this was all a misunderstanding between friends,” Winston began. “James understands the special bond between Master and slave, and I’m sure the last thing he wanted was--.”_

_“Can’t be much of a bond, the way that slut came onto me,” James interjected. There was a moment of shocked silence in which Winston noticed the slave at Anthony’s feet shiver._

_“James,” Winston said calmly. “Mister Graham has an excellent reputation for training slaves. We wouldn’t want to say that his boy is anything but devoted. On the other hand, some slaves can be difficult to handle, especially if they’re not very experienced, and it’s no reflection on the owner if a slave happens to misbehave under stress.” Winston relaxed a fraction. The situation was still salvageable. If the confrontation could be attributed to the slave’s misbehavior, then neither James nor Anthony would lose face. Certainly the slave would be punished later, but the important thing was that Winston’s guests remained happy._

_Anthony laid a hand on his slave’s shoulder. “Boy isn’t difficult to handle. I’ve never had any trouble with him.”_

__Bollocks, _Winston thought. Apparently Anthony wasn’t feeling charitable enough to let James out of this gracefully._

_“Boy, were you flirting with this man?” Anthony asked. Boy pursed his lips and shook his head vehemently._

_James snorted. “Of course he’ll deny it,” he said dismissively._

_Anthony took Boy’s chin in his hand to make him look up at him. “You can speak, Boy.”_

_“Sir, I swear I did nothing. I was just coming back from the restroom, and he stopped me, and then—I didn’t do anything, I swear,” Boy said quickly, desperately._

_“The little whore’s a liar,” James said. “He was practically begging me for it.”_

_Winston tensed as he saw that Anthony’s temper was rising, and moved to avert it. “Signals can be misinterpreted,” he said with a sweep of his hand._

_“Is this man a personal guest of yours?” Anthony asked sharply, turning to Winston. “I’ve never seen him before.”_

_Winston had no intention of incurring Anthony’s anger on behalf of a total stranger. If Anthony was determined to blame someone, then so be it. “In truth, Peter recommended I put him on the guest list,” he said apologetically._

_“Remind me to tell Peter he has terrible taste in friends,” Anthony said. He stood and snapped his fingers, and Boy rose to follow him. They stopped on their way out of the study, and Anthony glared at James. “You won’t come near my property a second time,” he said, and swept out of the room._

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Brass asked.

“Quite simply, sir, it’s a gentlemanly way of saying that one will, oh what’s that they say in the movies? Sleep with the fishes,” Winston explained.

“So you heard this guy threaten James Becker,” Brass said.

“That’s what I’ve told you.”

Grissom frowned. “All I’ve heard about your community leads me to believe that you are, as a rule, very discreet.”

“Yes,” Winston said thoughtfully. “And yet, someone who was at my home that evening told you who I am, and that I am well known in the community, as you call it. They told you that James Becker was at my residence, and that he had a spat with someone. You didn’t know who that someone was, or you’d be talking to Anthony Graham and not to me. So that means someone at the party who didn’t know Anthony Graham came to you and gave you these details.”

Grissom’s stomach did a flip-flop, but he kept his face blank. “We’re not asking about that. We’re curious as to why you chose to give us this information.”

“I’m a very private man, Mister Grissom,” Winston said. “But I take it very poorly when people go to extremes. James Becker’s behavior was questionable, but such misunderstandings happen. He probably wouldn’t have been included on future guest lists, and Mister Graham wouldn’t have run into him again. There’s no reason to resort to violence over such trifles. It’s not civilized.” 

“And you’re not worried that Graham will be upset that you spoke to us?” Brass asked.

“Why, no,” Winston said incredulously. “Anthony Graham has a great deal of money, but I have great respect in the community. I’m allowed to get away with a number of scandalous things, and I don’t think that cooperating with a murder investigation will tarnish my image. I’d be more worried, of course, if I were a man of lesser influence, as I imagine your first informant is.”

Grissom dredged up a polite smile. “Of course. Thank you for your time, Mister Savage.”

“Oh, not at all, sir. It’s been a lark.”

*********************

Greg awoke in the middle of the night. “Stupid messed-up sleep schedule,” he muttered to himself as he picked up the clothes he’d discarded earlier and pulled them on. He found a piece of paper and a pen next to the phone on the dresser and wrote Nick a note.

_Gone home for clean clothes and a shower.  
See you after your shift._

He hesitated a moment, then signed it:

_Love,  
Greg_

When he slid into the Jetta, he noticed that he was pleasantly sore. That kept him smiling all the way home. He’d had sex with a lot of men, probably more than Nick would guess, but last night had been different. And waking up with a man was certainly different, and not unpleasant. 

At home in his apartment, the answering machine was blinking. He pushed the button to listen while he sorted through the past three days’ mail. The first message was a recording from someone running for state Congress, urging him to go to the polls next Tuesday. He pressed the button to skip it. 

The next message was from Meg, telling him not to bother coming into work, since the protesters were still hanging around and she didn’t want to put anyone in danger. “This is seriously the last day we’ll stay closed, though,” went the end of the message. “Tomorrow, we’ll put on a show outside. That’ll either drive them away or make them all come inside to see more. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye, doll.” 

Next came an unfamiliar voice, and Greg stopped flipping through bills to listen. “… City of Las Vegas. Your presence is requested tomorrow at nine AM for a hearing of the review board to discuss your employment status with the department. Please be prompt.”

Greg’s heart dropped. It’s not as if I wasn’t expecting this, he told himself. He dropped the rest of the mail onto the couch and wandered to the bathroom. Fuck. He stared in the mirror a long time before he realized there was probably nothing he could do to help the situation at this point except shower. If he was going to be fired, the least he could do was look presentable.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg reviews his employment status at both jobs.

Nick felt a pang of anxiety when Greg’s Jetta wasn’t in the driveway. _Stop being so paranoid,_ he scolded himself. _Just because he’s not here doesn’t mean he’s at the club. I hope._ The house seemed strangely empty without Greg in it. _Funny. How did I get so used to having him around after only two days?_ Nick wandered into the bedroom, and his heart leapt when he saw a note on the nightstand. He read it and smiled. Then he re-read it and his smile grew even wider. “Love, Greg,” he read out loud. “Love.” 

Now that he knew Greg was planning on coming back, Nick felt more at ease. He did a little dance on his way to the kitchen, wondering if Greg would be hungry when he came back. _Probably. Always is_. Nick couldn’t stop smiling as he fried up some bacon. Greg was coming back soon. Greg loved him.  
************

Greg pulled at his tie in irritation. Having something tight around his throat made him nervous. _Probably holdover from those bad experiences with breath control play,_ he reflected glumly. He was sitting in a hallway somewhere in the bowels of the LVPD administrative offices. A secretary had led him here and told him to wait, and Greg had serious doubts that he’d be able to find his way out again without help. 

There was no one else in the hallway, but Greg could hear low voices from behind a closed door a little way down the corridor. No matter how much he strained his hearing, he couldn’t make out what they were saying. He was just debating whether he had the guts to go press his ear against the door when it opened and a man in a suit gestured for Greg to come in. 

There were two men and three women sitting behind a table. A lone chair in front of the door was obviously meant for Greg. He sat down and regarded the review committee nervously. There was no one he knew; he wasn’t sure if that was a relief or a disappointment. 

“I assume you know why you’re here, Mister Sanders,” one of the women addressed him. “Your supervisor has issued a request for us to reconsider your employment status.”

“I have it right here,” said a grey-haired man sitting at the end. “Yes.” He sorted a piece of paper out of a stack in front of him and began to read. “It is with regret that I recommend that CSI Level One Greg Sanders be removed from field duty and returned to his position as a DNA analyst or released from city employment, as he wishes.”

“I’m being fired?” 

“No,” the first woman said quickly. “It seems your supervisor would be happy to keep you in your former position, in the DNA lab.”

Greg felt like he’d been stabbed with a dull knife. _Fuck you Grissom. Firing me would have been kinder._ “Does it say why?”

The grey-haired man looked over his piece of paper. “No. Only that personal problems seem to prevent you from working effectively with the field team.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t have to decide right away,” another woman said kindly. “You have until the end of the week to notify us of your decision.”

“I don’t need until the end of the week. I can give you my answer now.”  
**************** 

Greg was relieved to see there were no protesters in front of the Power House. Either they’d gotten bored, or Meg had done as she’d threatened and driven them away. After what had happened to Lawrence and Aaron, parking in the back didn’t seem like a good idea, so he parked on the street out front, used the main entrance, and made his way through the crowd to Meg’s office in the back of the club.

The door was open, so Greg stuck his head in. Meg was sitting on her desk, talking to a man who sat with his back to the door. She saw Greg right away and motioned him in. 

“Gabe, you remember Winston Savage?” she asked, indicating the man in the chair. He rose to shake hands with Greg.

“Yeah, of course.” Greg shook his hand and sank into the room’s other chair, hoping against hope that Grissom hadn’t had a chance to question Winston since Greg had given up the information about the party. _He doesn’t look like he wants to kill me. I guess that’s a good sign._

“I wanted to tell you how pleased I was with your work at my gathering last week,” Winston said, resuming his seat. “Very impressive.”

“Uh, thanks.” Greg had never had any personal contact with those who watched him perform; it was vaguely upsetting. 

Winton seemed oblivious to Greg’s discomfort. “In fact, Mister Graham was heard to compliment you as well. You know Anthony Graham of course?”

 _God, would this guy just leave already?_ “No idea,” Greg said shortly.

“Oh come, you must know him. Older gentlemen. With a beard.”

 _Why does it matter?_ he thought irritably. _And if I just say I know him, will you let me talk to Meg?_ Greg considered the guests he’d seen at Winston’s party, and an image came to him of the older man who’d argued with James Becker. “Did he have his sub with him? Wearing a nice suit?”

“Yes. That’s Anthony, all right. Well, in any case, he spoke highly of your performance.” Winston gave another charming smile, then stood. “I’ve got to be going. Cheers, Meg.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, and Greg wanted to hit him. “Mister Sanders.” Winston nodded politely and strolled out of the office. 

“British people are annoying,” Greg said petulantly. 

Meg grinned. “Winston’s not so bad. Come on, Gabe! He complimented you. Don’t you like to be told you’re hot?” she teased. “And why are you in my office and not backstage?”

Well, trust Meg to go right for the hard questions. “We have to talk,” he began determinedly.

She took in his serious expression and moved to sit in the chair Winston had just vacated. “Well that doesn’t sound good. Is anything wrong?”

“Not wrong,” Greg explained. “Just… I think I can’t work here anymore.”

Meg looked concerned, but not angry. “Honey, is it what happened to Lawrence and Aaron? We’re getting extra security to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I always want my people to feel safe.”

Greg shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s… personal, I guess. I mean, I think I want to try to do without…all this.”

Meg cracked a smile. “It’s that cop, isn’t it?”

Greg blushed. “No,” he lied.

“Gabe, honey, no one stays with this gig forever. I’ll be sad to lose a good employee, but I’m happy if you’ve found someone to go home to.”

“Thanks,” he said huskily. 

“Come on, none of your hysterics,” Meg teased. “And anyway, if you ever want to come back, let me know.”

“Thanks.”

“You know, I would never have guessed you’d be into that guy,” Meg said thoughtfully. “What’s his name?”

“Nick,” Greg provided.

“Nick. Do you know he came you see you perform?”

Greg blushed furiously. “Yeah. I… heard about that.”

Meg smiled sheepishly. “I chased him out of the audience. He was really enjoying himself. I’m sorry I did, now. If I’d known you were into him, I would have let him stay. It was a great show.”

“It was probably for the best,” Greg said. “Damn. And thank God for blindfolds. If I’d known...” He shrugged. “Well, it’s turned out all right anyway.”

“Come on.” Meg stood up. “Let’s go backstage. If you’re going to leave us, I don’t want to have to break the news to the rest of the staff all alone.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg shares some news with Nick.

Greg liked driving. He found it soothing, somehow, even though the afternoon sun of the Nevada desert made his eyes tired. He wanted to be tired before he went back to Nick’s. His head was so busy; he was sure that if he went back too soon, he’d start talking and never stop. Always a problem with talking: too much, not enough. He’d made too many mistakes with Nick: this time it needed to be right. So he drove. 

The sun had already set by the time Greg pulled into Nick’s driveway. He breathed a sigh of relief that Nick’s car was there. He retrieved the small suitcase of necessities he’d brought from his apartment and knocked on the door.

Nick answered almost immediately, rubbing his eyes with the back of one hand. “Hey,” he said, opening the door for Greg. “I guess I fell asleep waiting.”

As Greg walked in, he noticed two plates of eggs and bacon congealing on the dining room table. Nick saw him looking and shrugged. “I made breakfast,” he said. “Six hours ago.”

“I’m sorry.” Greg was surprised by how guilty he felt. He threw his stuff down and resisted the urge to grab Nick and hold onto him. “I forgot I said I’d be back when you got off shift. I got a little… sidetracked.”

“Okay.” Nick took a seat on the couch where he’d recently been asleep and watched Greg with a semblance of calm. 

Greg could tell it was taking all of Nick’s willpower not to ask him where he’d been. _He has to know eventually_ , Greg told himself. He folded himself to the floor in front of the couch. Almost automatically, Nick slid off his seat to join Greg on the floor. That simple, unthinking gesture of consideration, of equality, made Greg smile, and gave him the courage to say what he had to. “I had to go before the performance review board today,” he said.

Nick furrowed his brow in confusion. “You just had your final proficiency a couple months ago. Why would they--?”

“It was a special meeting. Grissom wanted them to ‘reconsider my employment status,’” Greg explained. 

“Wait—what? Grissom referred you to the review board? Why? He always stands behind the team.”

“Not this time.” Greg couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“But why would he--?” Nick protested

“You know why.” 

Nick shook his head. “I’ve done plenty of stupid things since I’ve worked for him. There have been a few times that I probably deserved to be dismissed. But Grissom stood by me. He’s stood by all of us. Warrick’s gambling problem. Sara telling off Ecklie. Catherine accidentally blowing up you and the lab, for God’s sake. He didn’t fire any of them. I can’t believe he’d fire you.”

“He didn’t fire me, exactly.”

Nick frowned. “What, then?”

“They gave me an ultimatum: go back to the lab, or resign.”

Nick reached out abruptly to grab Greg’s hand. “No. Greggo, no. That’s unfair. They can’t expect--.”

“I told them I’d go back to the lab,” Greg interrupted. 

Nick blinked in confusion. “But you love the field. You worked hard to become a CSI.”

“Yeah,” Greg said, fighting the words past the lump in his throat. “But I can’t give up criminalistics altogether.”

Nick stood up, turned away. “You could get a job at a lab in another city,” he said reluctantly.

Greg shook his head. “No. I want to stay here.” Nick looked at him hard, trying to decipher the subtext of that, before Greg let him off the hook. “I want my life to be with you. Waking, sleeping, every moment of every day, with you. I can’t do that in a crime lab in another city, or at some other job around here. I can make any sacrifice as long as I can have you.”

To his surprise, Nick felt tears well up in his eyes. “Greg.”

Greg stood and put his hands in his pockets. “I was at the Power House earlier,” he continued quickly. Nick tensed up at that, but Greg gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I told Meg I was quitting.” A huge grin spread over Nick’s face, and Greg suddenly found himself enveloped in a near-suffocating hug. “Breathing… good…” Greg gasped. Nick eased up, but didn’t release him.

“Thank you,” Nick whispered. “Just… thank you.”

“I think we should do something to celebrate,” Greg said, pulling away gently. “I can take you somewhere to eat, since I obviously ruined your breakfast plans.”

“You didn’t ruin anything, G,” Nick said. “I’m just glad you’re home. Now we can…” He trailed off into silence when his cell phone chirped. He snatched it off its belt clip and frowned. “It’s Grissom.”

Greg sighed. “You should answer it, then.”

“Fuck Grissom,” Nick growled. “He wanted to fire you.”

Greg couldn’t help but smile at Nick’s vehemence. “We want to keep working together, right? So you’d better answer it.”

Nick eyed Greg with trepidation, but flipped open the phone. “Stokes. No, I was awake.” He listened silently for a moment, and Greg watched him, trying to decipher the other end of the conversation. “When? You want me to--? I’m not sure if that’s a good idea. Fine. Fine. No, I’m fine. I’ll be there.” He snapped the phone closed. “Brass just got the warrant to search Anthony Graham’s house.”

Greg raised an eyebrow. “That’s good, right?”

“Yes. He wants me to go with Warrick to check out the place.”

Greg tried not to blush. “Because you heard the whole story from me? About what happened at Savage’s party?” 

“I guess.” Nick shrugged. “I thought he’d want me off the case, since I’m kind of personally involved. It’s his call, though. I’m supposed to meet Warrick at the lab in twenty minutes.”

“Well, you’d better get going,” Greg said with a sigh. Nick hesitated, eying him with concern. Greg managed a small smile. “I’m fine. Better than I’ve been in a long time.” 

Nick returned the smile, and leaned in to kiss Greg on the cheek before grabbing his wallet and keys off the table by the door. “I hope we find something,” he said as he paused on the threshold. “I’m getting really sick of this case.”

“Tell me about it.” Greg rolled his eyes and then shoed Nick out the door. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team goes after their best suspect.

“This case is really starting to piss me off,” Warrick complained as he and Nick followed Brass and Sophia up the walkway to a small mansion. “We don’t have any evidence that this guy Graham had anything to do with the murder at all. Just the word of some witness.”

“Witnesses,” Nick corrected. “Two.”

“Two? Gris only told me about Winston Savage. Who’s this other witness?” Warrick asked.

Nick cursed himself silently. “Um… I don’t know. But this is our best lead,” he continued quickly. “I’ll search ten mansions if it’ll find us the primary crime scene.”

Warrick reluctantly grumbled his agreement as Brass rang the doorbell. A young woman answered the door. “We need to see Anthony Graham,” Brass announced. “And we have a warrant to search the premises.” 

The woman raised her eyebrows in surprise, but opened the door to admit the four of them. “Mister Graham is in the library,” she said. Wordlessly Brass, Sophia, Warrick and Nick followed her through several well-appointed rooms before being ushered through a door into the “library.”

The room was lined with shelves holding an impressive number of books, and Anthony Graham looked like a king in his castle, reclining in a huge arm chair with a glass of brandy on the table next to him, a book in one hand, and the other hand gently petting the head of a young man who knelt beside him. Nick’s stomach did a flip flop. Even seeing Greg perform at the Power House hadn’t been this surreal. That was a performance; this looked like it was an every day occurrence. _But maybe Greg’s been in this position, too,_ suggested a voice in the back of Nick’s mind. _He’s had a lot of… experience. How much do you really know about his dirty little secrets?_ Nick shook his head slightly to silence the voice, and returned his attention to the man kneeling on the floor, who was now staring daggers in the direction of the four intruders. 

“I’m Captain Brass of the LVPD,” Brass began. “Are you Anthony Graham?”

“Yes, that’s me,” Graham said, a frown deepening the lines on his face. “What’s this all about?”

“We’re going to need you to come downtown with us and answer some questions while we search your house,” Sophia said.

Graham stood. “Search my house? You have no cause to--.”

“I’ve got a warrant.” Brass held it up. “Could you come with us, please?” 

Graham looked like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it. “Cathy, call my lawyers,” he said with an angry wave at the young woman who’d brought in his visitors. Then he squatted next to the man on the floor and fumbled with something on the young man’s neck. When he stood, Nick saw that he held a collar, the type you would put on a dog. Graham pocketed the collar and turned back to Brass. “Let’s go, then, if we’re going.” Brass led Graham out of the room, nodding to Sophia to stay. 

Warrick watched warily as the young man stood and glared at them. “I’ll start on the upstairs,” Warrick said quickly, and fled the room. 

Sophia gave Nick an unreadable look, before addressing the man, who’d taken a seat in the arm chair Graham had recently abandoned. “My name’s Sophia Curtis.” He continued to glare. “Do you have a name?”

“If I’m not under arrest, I don’t have to talk to you,” he said tersely. 

“No,” Sophia said. “But things might go better for Mister Graham if you cooperate. Do you live here?”

“Yes.”

Nick suppressed a sigh. This was like pulling teeth. He set down his kit on a table and started to survey the room while Sophia continued her questions. 

“So, are you related to Mister Graham?”

That produced a laugh, for some reason. “No. We’re not related. I… work for Anthony.”

“What’s your name?” Sophia asked.

“Boy,” he said straight-faced. 

Nick suppressed a shudder, and was glad Sophia couldn’t see his face. It gave him the creeps to hear a man identify himself so calmly as someone’s “boy.” 

“Let’s talk about Mister Graham,” Sophia said. “You attended a party with him last week.”

Boy smiled slightly. “I attended several.”

“You’d remember this one. You caused a fight,” Sophia said with a smile of her own.

“I didn’t cause a fight,” Boy said vehemently. Then he made a visible effort to calm himself, and slid back behind his mask of amused indifference. “I attract my share of attention. I guess you wouldn’t know much about that.”

“Can you tell me where you and Mister Graham were on Friday night?” Sophia asked, ignoring his taunt. 

“No,” he said, enunciating the word clearly and flashing a charming smile.

“This would really be better for you if--.”

“Let me talk to _him_.” Boy gestured to the other side of the room where Nick was going through the contents of a roll-top desk and pretending not to eavesdrop. 

Sophia looked at Nick and raised an eyebrow in inquiry. Nick shrugged to indicate his willingness to go along with the request. “Fine,” Sophia said to the young man. “Have a nice chat. Man to boy.” She left.

Nick set down the papers he’d been looking at. “What do you have to say to me that you couldn’t tell Detective Curtis?”

“I feel more comfortable around men,” Boy said. He licked his lips. “You qualify.”

Nick suppressed another shiver. “So what can you tell me about the party last week?”

Boy ignored the question, instead raking his eyes up and down Nick’s body. “You look a little familiar. I’ve been trying to figure it out. You want to know where I’ve seen you before?” Boy slid gracefully out of his chair and sauntered over to him. “Anthony and I go to clubs, sometimes. Just for fun. To see something a little different. We like the Power House. It’s a nice place.” Nick said nothing, but whatever Boy saw in his eyes was enough to make him go on. “The owner invited us a few nights ago to see a new performer she’d acquired. It was a good show. But there was this guy, some guy there by himself, and the manager came up to him right in the middle of the show and kicked him out.”

Nick shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. “What does this have to do with the party?”

Boy returned his shrug. “Maybe nothing. I’m just saying the guy looked a lot like you.” He took another step toward Nick. “I don’t mean anything by it. I just think you probably have some idea what the relationship is between me and Anthony.” He took another step forward, invading Nick’s personal space. Nick stood his ground. “I think you know that I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

“Then you should answer our questions,” Nick said through clenched teeth.

Boy took another half-step forward. “There are things I can’t tell you. I’m not allowed,” he said, stretching out the last word languidly. “But I want you to understand that I’m willing to cooperate, if it means Anthony can stay out of trouble.”

It took Nick a moment to realize what was happening when he felt a hand unbuttoning his pants. The next moment, he had shoved Boy halfway across the room, and was clenching his hands into fists at his sides to keep from hauling off and hitting the kid. 

Boy righted himself, then smiled warily. “All right. Don’t get upset. Offer still stands. Think it over.” 

Sophia appeared in the doorway of the library. “Is everything okay in here? I thought I heard—.”

“Fine,” Nick said quickly. “I’m going to see how Rick’s doing.” He fled the room before Sophia could say anything else.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick steps over the threshold.

Greg had put his stuff in Nick’s bedroom, gone shopping for important stuff Nick didn’t have (Blue Hawaiian and ribbed condoms), put his toiletries on the shelf in the bathroom, changed his mind and put them back in his own bag, changed his mind again and put them back on the shelf, and then rearranged them. Twice. He tried to find a place to put the new box of condoms. They looked pretty tacky on the coffee table in the living room. Handy, but tacky. He compromised by sliding the box under the couch cushions. Now he was impatient for Nick to be home. 

Nothing on Nick’s five hundred channels of digital cable could hold his attention. While he was here alone, he had time to think, and that was not what he wanted right now. Doubts and fears clashed and sniped at each other in his head. _You give up you position as a CSI and go crawling back to the lab just so you can stay with the first guy that shows you a little affection. Pathetic bitch. You think you’re strong enough to deal with a crisis without resorting to your old ways? Don’t make me laugh. You probably won’t make it through twenty-four hours._ Greg turned up the volume on the television to drown out the voices, but it wasn’t working. He could feel himself spiraling into panic. Greg glanced at the clock on the DVD player: there was still time to call Meg and ask if he could work the last show of the night. But he wouldn’t do it. Would not. Not. Not. Not. Not. Not. 

He could wait for Nick to get home. Then… Well, he wasn’t sure what then, but Nick had said he’d help. He had to help. Greg couldn’t do this alone. He sat, listening to his watch chime the hours away, waiting for Nick.  
****************

It had been a long shift, processing evidence from Anthony Graham’s home and dodging Warrick and Sophia’s questions about his bad mood. At least he’d managed to avoid being in the same room as Boy again. He wasn’t sure if Sophia had gotten any more information out of the kid, and, truth to tell, he was too scared to ask. He’d fled the lab as soon as the clock hit seven, avoiding the locker room so as to steer clear of an increasingly concerned Warrick, and turned his truck towards home.

Home. Where another potential minefield waited. _I promised Greg I’d help him._ Nick told himself for the twenty-seventh time. _I promised. But can I really?_ Nick shuddered as he thought about the way Anthony Graham had casually petted Boy. _I can’t_ be _that for Greg. I hope that’s not what he wants_. He tried to steer his thoughts away from Boy, and their earlier encounter. _Greg trusts me. I trust him. Neither of us are is to do something the other doesn’t want,_ he told himself firmly. He parked his car in the driveway, and went straight to the door without giving himself more time to brood.

As soon as Nick opened the door, Greg was on him like a puppy whose owner had been away all day. Nick pushed that image out of his mind: thinking of dogs reminded him of the collar Anthony Graham had taken off his slave. He didn’t want to equate Boy with Greg. 

But Greg was kissing him, pushing him against the door, pressing their bodies together, and when Greg’s hand began to fumble with the front of Nick’s pants, the sense of claustrophobia was too much; Nick shoved Greg away, hard.

Greg caught himself before he fell and stood watching Nick, bewildered. “What?”

“I can’t…” Nick shook his head as he trailed off.

Greg stared at him in concern. “Can’t what?” Nick waved a hand vaguely and went to sit on the couch. Greg followed him, sitting a cautious distance away. “What’s wrong?” Greg pressed. 

“I had a weird… encounter today,” Nick said finally. Greg waited for him to continue. “Warrick and I went to search Anthony Graham’s house.”

“That’s the guy from Winston’s party, right?” Greg asked tentatively. “Who got in a fight with James Becker?”

Nick nodded. “His… slave was there.” Greg bristled, but kept quiet. Nick went on. “He wanted to talk to me. Recognized me from that night at the Power House, when… Anyway, he wanted to impress on me that he was willing to cooperate.”

“What happened?” Greg asked sharply.

“Nothing _happened_ ,” Nick said, a little too quickly. He found it interesting that Greg would come to the right conclusion so quickly. He wondered what that said about Greg’s past. Maybe he shouldn’t wonder.

Greg narrowed his eyes. “But he did try something.”

“Well… yes.” 

“I’ll knock his teeth down his throat,” Greg snarled, launching himself off the couch. 

Nick made a mad grab, caught the waistband of Greg’s jeans, and pulled him back onto the couch. “Woah, there.” He watched Greg’s fuming with growing amusement. “You do have a little drama queen in you, don’t you.”

“No,” Greg snapped. Then he saw Nick’s smile and relented. “Well, maybe.”

“I feel kind of sorry for him, to tell you the truth,” Nick said after a moment.

Greg snorted. “Don’t feel sorry for him. It was his choice.”

“I just don’t understand how anyone can surrender their life that completely.”

Greg was silent for a long moment. “It disgusts you?”

“It scares me,” said Nick.

“There’s a difference, you know.” Greg scooted up to the edge of the couch. “Between what he is and what I am. He’s a slave. That’s his lifestyle and his life. I’m a sub in role-playing performances. He’s a slave, and I play one on TV.” Nick blanched. “Not really on TV. Come on, I’m not a porn star. I mean that being a sub is not all that I am. I do other things. I have a real job. Nobody owns me. That man has given his life entirely to another person. He doesn’t want to do anything his master doesn’t want him to do.”

“I just don’t understand wanting to give yourself away like that,” Nick said with a pained sigh.

Greg shook his head. “That’s because you’re strong, Nick. You’ve never looked into the face of anything you can’t handle and thought that you’d rather just give someone else control over your life.”

“I’m not as strong as all that,” Nick said. “I get scared, believe me. I seem to remember one time, when I was buried alive…”

“Okay, there’s that,” Greg conceded with a small smile. “But that’s different. You can deal with day-to-day stuff. You can deal with life. And the way I deal with life is just…” He searched for the right word, but couldn’t find it. “I had to come up with all this crap just to cope with everyday stress.” 

“Maybe that’s been true in the past,” Nick said gently. “If you want to change that, I can help you.” Greg paused to consider. Nick watched him carefully, and saw the moment when he came to some conclusion. It worried Nick that he didn’t know what that conclusion was. 

“Listen,” Greg said. “I need to tell you all the bad stuff. If you’re going to leave me because of something I’ve already done, I want it to happen now.”

Nick paused, taken aback, then said, “You don’t have to do this.”

“I do,” Greg said vehemently. “What if I’ve done something I didn’t even know would upset you, something that would change your mind about me, and I didn’t tell you? And then someday you find out and can’t deal with it?”

“Everyone has stuff they don’t want everyoneelse to know, Greggo,” Nick said with a sweeping gesture. “Everyone has deep, dark secrets.”

Greg smiled sadly. “You’re saying you don’t want to know mine.”

“I’m afraid that you’re trying to push me away,” Nick corrected him. “That you’re trying to scare me.”

“It’s just…” Greg stopped to think. “I guess I just want to be honest. So how about this: what about me don’t you know that would upset you if you did know?”

Nick frowned in confusion. “If I knew what I didn’t know about you, then I wouldn’t not know it, G.”

“Well… Yeah.” Greg shrugged. “So what are your questions?”

Nick wracked his brain for something to lighten the mood. “Did you ever have a trashy stage name? Like Biff Malibu or Woody Long?”

“No,” Greg snorted. “We all have-- had stage names at the club, but they’re pretty tame. Well, usually. Just something else that starts with the same first letter as your real name.”

“So what was yours?” Nick asked.

“Gabe.”

“As in short for Gabriel.”

“I guess,” Greg shrugged. 

“I like it.” Nick smiled as Greg blushed just a little. “It doesn’t suit you as well as Greg, but…” Another question rattled in his brain. He knew he shouldn’t ask it. He knew it was none of his business. He knew he should leave well enough alone. He heard himself ask softly, “How many?”

Greg swallowed hard. “How many people have I had sex with?”

Nick nodded.

“Well.” Greg considered carefully. “I guess it depends on what you count as sex. I mean, any way you count, it’s… a lot.”

“What do you mean by a lot?” Nick asked cautiously. “Dozens? Hundreds? What?”

“Dozens, probably. I really don’t even know.”

“How can you not know?”

Greg could tell Nick had tried to soften the question, but still it stung. “For a long time I didn’t count.” He tried to rein in his resentment. He _had_ told Nick to ask. As Papa Olaf always said: one must lie in the bed one has made. Nick had a right to ask whatever he wanted. That didn’t mean he had to feel comfortable about answering. “Does that bother you?”

“A little,” Nick confessed. “Did it make you happy?”

“Sometimes. Not always.”

Nick nodded, satisfied with that answer. He let himself sink back into the couch; Greg did likewise. “I’m sorry I freaked out on you earlier.”

“I’m sorry I jumped you,” Greg said. “Guess it hasn’t been a good day for either of us.”

“Did something happen?” Nick asked, suddenly worried.

“No. Nothing happened. That’s the problem. I sat around and waited for you and didn’t go to the Power House.”

“Oh.” Nick took a moment to consider what a big step that was for Greg. “In that case, I’m surprised you haven’t torn all my clothes off yet.”

Greg managed a weak smile. “Yeah, well.” He stood and walked to the window, staring out at the weak morning sunlight. 

Nick tensed up as Greg put distance between them. Clearly Greg had something on his mind. _I just hope I can actually help with whatever it is,_ Nick thought worriedly. He rose, slowly, and followed Greg to the window. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

“I need some help,” Greg said tightly. “I barely survived today. Just one day.” He threw up his arms in despair. “What’s going to happen the first time I’m in a really stressful situation? I don’t know if I can stay away from the club.”

“I’ll help you,” Nick said, taking a step closer.

“Will you?” Greg asked, turning to him. “It’s going to take more than--.” He stopped and turned away. “You say you want to help, but you treat me like I’m made of glass.” Nick made a sharp “Nuh uh” in protest, but Greg cut him off. “Prove me wrong, then.” 

Before Nick could draw breath to respond, Greg’s lips were on his, Greg’s tongue was in his mouth. He kissed back, eagerly, and wrapped his arms around his lover. Greg ended the kiss by biting down on Nick’s bottom lip, not enough to draw blood, but enough to _hurt_ , until Nick shoved him away in surprise. 

Greg just smiled impishly. “Bring it, Nick,” he said playfully. “Come and get me.” He darted behind the couch. 

Nick felt his competitive spirit stir as he crept toward Greg. Greg made a “come here” motion with both hands. Nick lunged around the couch reaching for him, but Greg sidestepped, pivoting to wrap his arms around Nick from behind. He planted a kiss on Nick’s neck and ground his hips into Nick’s backside, hard enough for Nick to feel the evidence of his arousal, before jumping away. When Nick turned to face him, he had already retreated behind an armchair. 

“Come on, Nicky,” Greg taunted in a sing-song. He backed up a few more steps and quickly stripped off his shirt, throwing it aside. Nick felt his cock twitch in unmistakable approval. Watching Greg carefully, he stripped off his own shirt. Greg stood still, poised to run, waiting for Nick to make the next move. Nick faked to the right, then dashed left around the chair, catching Greg by the arm as he tried to run the wrong way. 

Greg’s momentum sent them crashing into the front door. Nick held Greg’s arms against the door while he initiated another kiss, without teeth. When he felt Greg’s hand sliding down the front of his pants, he didn’t protest. Greg stroked him through the fabric, and Nick had to work to keep his knees from buckling as blood rushed to his groin. He let out a moan of pleasure, then found himself falling ungracefully to the floor as Greg took advantage of his distraction to break away from the door. 

Nick scrambled to his feet only to hear Greg laughing at him from a few feet away. “Sneaky little….” Nick muttered. 

“Come on,” Greg said again. He toed off his shoes and kicked them into a corner. Nick did the same, keeping an eye on him. Nick saw Greg’s eyes move, flick for the barest of seconds toward the hallway, so when Greg moved, he was able to intercept him halfway. Nick grabbed Greg, twisted him around, gave him a shove to send him to the floor, and in two heartbeats he was on top of him, pinning Greg’s wrists to the floor on either side of his body. Greg grinned up at him.

“Turn over,” Nick said, his voice husky. Greg turned over. Nick pulled off Greg’s worn jeans, not bothering to unbutton them, just yanking them down past Greg’s skinny hips and bare feet to throw them somewhere over his shoulder. Greg’s boxers followed the same way. 

“Knees,” Nick said, and Greg pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. Nick wrapped one arm around Greg’s chest and pulled him back against his own chest, enjoying the mingled sounds of both their ragged breathing. He unbuttoned his pants one-handed, pulled down the zipper, and pushed his boxers out of the way to pull out his hardening cock before sliding his hand around to first Greg. 

Greg gasped, and squirmed, but Nick kept a firm hold on him. A few strokes had Greg practically melted against him, letting his head drop back against Nick’s shoulder. When Nick felt Greg’s breathing start to quicken, he grabbed the base of Greg’s cock and squeezed gently. “Well?” he whispered in his ear.

“Condoms. Couch,” Greg gasped out. 

Slightly perplexed, Nick reached over to slide a hand under the couch cushions. He grinned when his hand encountered a box. “You planned this,” he whispered accusingly. 

“Mmmm,” Greg said.

“Deviant,” Nick whispered. Greg leaned forward to brace his hands against the floor, raising his ass invitingly. He laid his head down sideways, looking back up at Nick, and licked his lips. Nick tore upon the box impatiently, ripped open a wrapper, and slid the condom onto his already weeping cock. 

He wished, fleetingly, that he had something to prepare Greg with, but hell if he was going to stop and walk all the way to the bedroom for some lube. Instead, he spit on his fingers and worked them quickly into Greg’s upturned ass. Greg pushed back against Nick’s hand, panting. 

Nick removed his fingers and scooted forward until he was kneeling just behind Greg. “What do you say?” he asked. 

Greg craned his neck to see Nick. He was smiling. “Please,” he said urgently. 

Nick positioned his cock at Greg’s entrance, but pulled away when Greg pushed back. Greg whined in frustration. “Please what?” Nick prompted.

Greg shot him a look of surprise and pleasure. Nick waited expectantly. “Please fuck me,” Greg said at last. 

Nick waited while Greg squirmed impatiently. He grabbed Greg’s hips to keep him still. 

“Nick, please,” Greg yelled. 

“Shhhh,” Nick said, and thrust his hips forward, plunging his cock into Greg. Greg bucked, narrowly avoiding giving Nick a bloody noise, but impaling himself further onto Nick’s cock. Nick leaned over, bracing his own hands over Greg’s, and began to thrust in a quick rhythm. Greg thrust back against him, picking up the pace.

“Please. Nick, please!” Greg gasped. Nick shifted one hand to balance himself and reached back with his other hand to grasp Greg’s bobbing erection. 

“Fuck!” Greg bucked again, and Nick turned his head to the side to avoid getting hit in the face. He felt Greg shudder beneath him, and as his vision began to white out, he kept his hand pumping. He buried himself to the hilt inside Greg, screaming wordlessly as he reached release. He felt Greg’s hand close over his own, and together they took Greg the last few strokes toward completion. 

Greg promptly collapsed in place, and Nick dropped to the floor beside him. It was a full minute before either of them moved, and then Greg scooted over a few inches to lay his head on Nick’s chest and drape one lanky arm over him. They lay like that for a long while, just letting their heart rates return to normal.

“You okay?” Nick asked eventually.

“More than,” Greg said. “Thanks.”

“I didn’t hurt you?”

Greg laughed. “Nope. I’m pretty sturdy.” He pushed himself into a sitting position so he could look at Nick. “Are you okay?”

Nick just snorted. “I can’t believe you hid condoms in the couch.”

“Well, I have to tell you, I had no idea things would go quite like this…” Greg waved a hand vaguely at the floor.

“Like what?” Nick asked. 

“Let’s get you to bed,” Greg said. “You’ve had a rough day, remember?” He stood, and extended a hand down to Nick.

Nick took it and let Greg help him up. “It hasn’t ended so badly.”

“Thanks to your competitive nature,” Greg said with a grin. 

“I don’t have a competitive nature,” Nick said, trying to keep a straight face. “I’ll race you to the bedroom.”

“That’s the Nick Stokes I know and love,” Greg said with a smile. He took off down the hall.

 _Greg_ does _loves me. Huh._ Nick took that in for a moment before he remembered that he was supposed to be racing, and ran after Greg.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone discovers something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains dub-con.

Warrick rubbed his temples as he regarded the table full of evidence in front of him. This past week had been nothing but headaches, especially with the lab short one CSI. _When Greg gets back from wherever, I’ve got a few things to say to him,_ Warrick grumbled mentally as he pieced together the remains of a shirt. _But at least it looks like we’ve finally caught a break._

Nick walked in whistling, and Warrick gave him a half-hearted glare. He couldn’t bring himself to resent Nick’s good mood; he was too relieved that Nick had snapped out of whatever funk he’d been in yesterday. 

“How’s it going?” Nick asked cheerfully.

“Better than it’s been in a while.” Warrick waved his hand to indicate the evidence. “Day shift was processing the grounds at Anthony Graham’s mansion, and found something interesting.”

Nick looked at a set of photos laid out along one edge of the table. “Woah.”

“Yeah. These are from a tool shed in one of the gardens. Looks like that’s where the main event occurred. Day shift brought back blood samples; they’re in the lab right now. I’ll bet you a bill that it’s James Becker’s blood all over that floor.”

“Nah, I think I agree with you this time. Almost a week of looking and we finally find our crime scene. I’m glad we have something to hold Graham on.”

“Yeah. It’s a good thing his fancy lawyer hadn’t gotten him released yet. Hey, I wanted to head over to the scene and check it out for myself. You game?” Warrick asked.

“Of course,” Nick said. 

A voice over the PA system interrupted them. "Nick Stokes, you have a visitor in reception. Nick Stokes, you have a visitor in reception."

Nick shrugged. “I’ll meet you in the lot?”

“I’m driving,” Warrick said, and headed out. 

Before going to reception, Nick pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial for home. Greg picked up on the third ring. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Hey. How’s work?”

“Think we found the crime scene. Anthony Graham is looking better and better.”

“Good. Finish up this case so I can come back to work. You need anything if I go out shopping?”

“I don’t think—Oh, I’m getting my dry cleaning delivered later. If you’re home, you can get it. Otherwise they’ll just leave it on the porch.”

“You have dry cleaning?” Greg asked skeptically.

Nick gave an indignant snort. “I have nice clothes!”

“And you get it delivered?”

“I forget to pick it up otherwise,” Nick mumbled.

“Yuppie.”

“Slacker,” Nick shot back affectionately.

“Have a fun shift. I’ll see you when you get home.” 

“Okay. I love you,” Nick said quickly.

There was an almost imperceptible pause before Greg said, “Thanks. See you soon.” With that, Greg hung up. 

Nick clicked his phone shut, trying to push away his disappointment at Greg’s answer. _I shouldn’t expect Greg to be as comfortable as I am sharing my feelings,_ he told himself for the tenth time as he headed toward the reception desk. _He does love me, even if he doesn’t say so. That should be enough._

A young man looked up when he saw Nick enter the reception area. Nick recognized him immediately and spun on his heel to march right back out of the room. 

Boy ran after him and grabbed him by the arm. “Wait, please.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Nick snarled.

Boy held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, just listen, then. Your boy’s in danger.”

“My _boy_?”

“Gabe,” Boy said. Seeing Nick’s expression darken, he rushed on. “He’s in danger.”

“No he’s not,” Nick ground out through clenched teeth. “He’s fine. I just spoke to him.”

“If he’s fine now, he won’t be for long. He is in danger. Call him again,” Boy insisted.

Nick turned away a second time. “I’m going now.”

“Please.” Boy darted to block Nick’s exit. “I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t think you had a good reason to help me. Anthony didn’t murder that man. But I bet I can guess who told you he did. Winston Savage, right? Am I right?”

“I think it’s time for you to leave,” Nick said firmly.

“Listen, Winston is a dangerous guy. He’s gonna to hurt Gabe, I know it.”

“I’m going to get someone to escort you off the premises.” Nick started for the reception desk, but Boy intercepted him once again.

“Fine. Fine. I’m leaving. But take this. Please.” He tried to hand Nick a piece of paper. Nick shoved it back at him. “It’s just my cell phone number. Here.” Boy shoved it into the pocket of Nick’s jacket. “Call me if I’m right.” Then he disappeared.

Nick stood there almost a full minute, getting his temper under control. _How dare that kid come here and threaten Greg._ He headed for the parking garage to meet up with Warrick. _We need to wrap up this case_ today _so I can get these people the hell out of my life._  
******************

It wasn’t until the doorbell rang that Greg remembered Nick saying something about dry cleaning, but when he opened the door, it wasn’t anyone delivering clothes. It was Winston Savage. “Um… Hi,” Greg said cautiously.

Winston smiled disarmingly. “May I come in?”

“No.” Greg squinted to see beyond the bright circle cast by the porch light, but it seemed that Winston really was alone. Not that it made the situation any less strange. “I mean, not to be rude, but why are you here?”

“I have a little proposition for you, Mister Sanders,” he said. 

Greg just stared at him as little facts began to sort themselves into a disturbing picture. _He knows my real name. He knew that I would be at Nick’s house. Which means he knows Nick and I are together. And he must know that we work for the crime lab. I bet he knows I’m the one that told the police about his party. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._ He couldn’t get his brain to do anything more than run in panicky circles, and he found that he was holding the door open for Winston Savage to step inside. 

It was surreal to see Winston standing in Nick’s living room: a collision of Greg’s alternate life in a place where it assuredly didn’t belong. Winston selected an armchair to perch on while Greg dropped himself onto the couch. When it was clear Greg had nothing to say, Winston began again.

“You’re a clever boy, Mister Sanders. I knew you excelled at one job, but I’ve come to find out that you’re also somewhat of a prodigy in your other, shall we say, legitimate profession. Such a brilliant mind to go with that beautiful body.”

Greg stayed perfectly still as Winston looked him up and down: he’d never felt so naked in jeans and a t-shirt.

“Since you’re so sharp, I imagine you’ve worked out what I’m doing here,” Winston went on.

Greg shook his head.

Winston clicked his tongue impatiently. “Don’t play, Mister Sanders. It wasn’t hard to work out who talked to the police about my gathering. You knew there would be consequences for that, didn’t you?”

Greg nodded slowly.

“Then this should be quite painless. You know that I can’t allow an indiscretion of this kind of pass unpunished.” Winston paused to let this sink in. “But I think we should be able to come up with a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

Greg said nothing.

“I’m a very influential man, Mister Sanders, as I’m sure you’re aware, but it wouldn’t take someone of my stature to be able to cause problems for you right now. Do you know what I’m talking about?” 

Greg said nothing.

“In the first place, I think the crime lab wouldn’t want it known that they employ a sex worker. I imagine you’ve already thought of that. If you haven’t been fired already, I’m sure the department’s taken some sort of disciplinary action.” Winston smiled. “But that’s not the only problem, is it? I hardly think it’s seemly for an employee of the crime lab to be _involved_ with a sex worker. Does your Mister Grissom think it appropriate? Would he defend both of you?”

Greg clenched his hands into fists.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t want your lover, Mister Stokes, is it?—exposed to any unnecessary public humiliation. I’m certain that someone of your intelligence can see all the ways that-.”

“What do you want?” Greg broke in.

Winston smiled easily and leaned back in his chair. “Nothing you haven’t done before.”

“I’m not a whore,” Greg said softly. He suddenly remembered saying the exact same thing to Nick last week—it seemed like a month ago, only this was different, so different, because, Greg realized, he _would_ whore himself, that and more, if it meant keeping Nick safe. 

Winston sat placidly, watching Greg work through his options. 

“Fine,” Greg said at last. “What do I have to do?”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick checks in on Greg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dub-con warning continues.

Boy’s words began to worry Nick as he rode back to the Graham mansion with Warrick. _”Listen, Winston is a dangerous guy.”_ The phrase ran through Nick’s head every six seconds or so. _I’m probably being paranoid. It’s certainly possible that Winston Savage had something to do with the murder… But isn’t it more likely that Boy’s trying to manipulate me somehow? I am so paranoid…I guess it couldn’t hurt to double-check on Greg._ He pulled out his cell and hit the speed-dial for home. It rang six times before the answering machine picked it up. 

“Who you calling?” Warrick asked.

Nick hung up and hit the speed-dial for Greg’s cell. It went right to voice-mail. Warrick looked at him again, waiting for an answer. “Could we swing by my place on the way to the scene?” Nick asked impulsively.

Warrick raised an eyebrow. “Your place is nowhere near ‘on the way’ to the scene.”

“I think I left the stove on.”

Warrick stared at him for such a long moment that Nick was surprised the Tahoe stayed on the road. “Whatever,” he said finally. “We’ll swing by.”  
***************

Nick was glad he’d made Warrick wait in the car. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if Warrick had come with. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do anyway.

There were sounds coming from the bedroom. His bedroom. Loud sounds. Rhythmic sounds. Unmistakable sounds. 

He stood rooted to the spot just inside the front door, unable to think of anything better to do.   
***************

Greg threw his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. He hadn’t wanted a cigarette so badly in… ever. He heard Nick’s bed creak as Winston got up and began getting dressed.

Greg felt like vomiting. Or maybe crying. He ignored both impulses. _I’ve fucked lots of people I didn’t particularly like,_ he told himself determinedly. _This shouldn’t be any different._ Except that it felt different. It felt worse. Much worse. _We shouldn’t have done it in Nick’s bed._ The thought popped unbidden into Greg’s head, and brought with it a stronger sense of shame than any he’d ever experienced. He felt tears sting his eyes. _Not where Nick and I…_ Angrily, he pawed through his pile of clothes on the ground to retrieve his jeans, and pulled them on, wincing as denim scraped over raw skin. 

When he turned around, Winston was watching him with a smile on his face. “Thank you, dear boy.”

Greg wanted to hit him. Instead, he said softly, “Nick can never know about this.”

Winston inclined his head fractionally. “Of course. I’ll keep up my end of the bargain. Don’t get up. I can show myself out. Good night, Mister Sanders.” 

Greg waited until Winston was out of the room before sinking back onto the bed. More than anything, he wanted to shower, to wash off the other man’s scent. And he would… right after he stopped shaking.   
******************

As seconds ticked away, Nick began to debate the wisdom of standing here, waiting. Surely he… she… they… would be coming this way eventually. It was actually kind of sadistic to stand here and listen, knowing what was going on. But he couldn’t leave. 

The noises from the bedroom stopped, eventually. Nick thought he might have heard voices, but he couldn’t say for sure. Then, without warning, a man appeared from the hallway. He caught sight of Nick and smiled wanly. Nick knew from Greg’s description of the party who this man had to be: Winston Savage. Boy’s words ran hollowly in his ears: Winston is a dangerous guy.

Winston glided gracefully across the room to pick up his suit jacket from where it was draped over the back of the sofa. “He’s a sweet boy,” he said conversationally. “He must love you very much.”

“What did you do?” Nick ground out through clenched teeth.

Winston looked at him, surprised. “Nothing he didn’t give me permission to do.” He smiled, as if amused by Nick’s concern. “He’s fine. May be a little sore, but it’s nothing like the roughest tumble he’s ever had.”

 _No_ , was the only coherent thought in Nick’s mind, and before he knew it, he was advancing on Winston, fists clenched menacingly.

“Ah ah ah.” Winston held up one finger in warning. “Greg just bought my silence for the both of you. You wouldn’t want him to have to pay twice.”

 _Bought his silence?_ It took a moment for Nick to puzzle out the meaning of that. 

Just at that instant, Greg arrived in the hallway, eyes widening in horror as he took in Nick’s presence. Nick couldn’t help but notice red scratches that stood out against the pale skin of Greg’s bare chest. No one spoke. It was clear, at least, that Greg didn’t know what to say any more than Nick did.

Nick solved the problem very neatly by turning and disappearing through the front door.  
*********************

Warrick looked at his watch. _Okay. In three minutes, I’m calling Gris and telling him Nick’s gone nuts._ He jumped as he heard the front door of the house slam, and saw Nick racing for the Tahoe. Nick pulled the passenger door open and practically threw himself into the seat, where he sat staring straight ahead. 

Warrick watched him, wide-eyed. When Nick did nothing else, he decided it was time to get to the bottom of this. “Was your stove on?” he asked casually.

“What?” Nick turned to look at him, as if he’d just realized ‘Rick was in the car with him. 

“Hello? Nicky?” Warrick waved his hand in front of his friend’s face.

Nick ignored him and reached into his jeans pocket, pulling out a piece of paper. Then he grabbed his phone off his belt clip and began stabbing the buttons. 

Warrick pulled the cell phone out of his hand. “What the hell is wrong with you?” 

“Give me back my phone,” Nick said warningly.

“No. Absolutely no.”

Nick lunged for it, and Warrick pulled it out of reach. “Warrick, I’m serious. Give it back.”

“Not until you tell me what the hell is going on. Disappearing in the middle of your shift, making me take you to your house, acting all shady—What’s the matter with you?”

Nick glanced past Warrick to the door of the house, then sat back in his seat. “Fine. Can you drive and listen at the same time?”

“Yes,” Warrick said cautiously.

“Then let’s get to that crime scene. I’ll tell you on the way.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick makes a call.

Warrick listened as he drove, and the more he heard, the less he believed that Nick was being even remotely truthful. When he pulled into Anthony Graham’s driveway, he turned off the engine and gave Nick his full attention. “So, you thought your girlfriend was cheating on you.”

“Yeah,” Nick said, not meeting his friend’s eyes.

“And that’s why you’ve been acting weird.”

"Yeah.”

Warrick glared at him. “Do you think I’m stupid, Nicky? Come on. Something worse than that is going on. I know it has something to do with Greg, and with this case. Don’t pretend it doesn’t.” Nick started to protest, but Warrick cut him off. “I’m your friend, and I’ll stand by you, but I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s going on.”

Warrick watched Nick struggle with himself, but ultimately Nick just shook his head and said, “I need to make a phone call.”

“Fine,” Warrick said tightly. “I’m going inside. If you’re not there in five minutes, I’m coming back to get you.” He pocketed the keys and slammed the driver’s side door behind him.  
***********

Nick heaved a weary sigh as he watched Warrick storm across Anthony Graham’s yard toward the tool shed where the crime scene waited. _Warrick doesn’t deserve to be lied to,_ he told himself reproachfully. But he couldn’t go after his friend and explain what was really going on. _For one thing, I don’t understand it myself. What was Greg--?_

Nick shook his head violently to avoid thinking about that. Instead, he retrieved his phone from the dashboard where Warrick had set it, and began keying in the number he’d found in his pocket: the one Boy had left him. 

It rang once before Boy picked up. His voice was bright, almost smug. “Hey Nick. Told you you’d need this number.”

“Yeah,” Nick said wearily. He was finding it difficult to muster the energy for anger. 

“Are you ready to talk to me?”

Nick sighed despairingly. “Yeah.”

“I’m in the gardens, up the hill to your left.” Boy hung up.

 _Of course Boy’s here,_ Nick thought. _He knew I’d come eventually._ He squinted through the darkness. The decorative lamp posts throughout the grounds made it possible to distinguish a line of well-pruned trees off to the left, and beyond that, bushes. He climbed out of the Tahoe and made his way to the line of crime scene tape around the shed. There was a uniformed officer Nick didn’t know standing guard.

“CSI Stokes,” he said, hoping he sounded casual. “I’m going to check out the grounds.”

“In the dark?” the officer asked doubtfully.

“Yeah.” Nick shrugged and walked off up in the hill in the direction of the gardens. As he picked his way through well-pruned shrubs and cobblestone paths, he wondered what the hell he was doing. _What could Boy possibly have to say to me that he hasn’t already said? That Anthony Graham’s innocent? I highly doubt that’s true. That Winston Savage is dangerous? That, I already know._ He pushed down a wave of distress that threatened to buckle his knees. _Greg… Why would you do that?_

Nick caught movement out of the corner of his eye: someone sitting on a low wall that marked the boundary of this garden. As he got closer, he recognized the silhouette. Evidently Boy recognized him, too. He jumped off the wall and came down the path toward Nick. 

When Boy got close enough to see Nick, he began to laugh. “You know already! I can see it in your face. What, did you walk in on them?” Nick gaped at him, and Boy’s expression turned to one of pure delight. “This is so, so much better than I could have planned. I had no idea you were so paranoid that you’d go right away. I mean, I knew you’d find out eventually, but…Wow.” Nick felt his anger, which had been banked beneath ashes of despair and hurt, stir. “You must really have loved him to be so concerned. That is so perfect!” 

Suddenly, Nick shoved Boy against the nearest tree; his head bounced off the rough surface with a hollow thunk, and he would have fallen if Nick hadn’t been holding him by the throat. “How did you know that would happen?” Nick growled.

Boy struggled momentarily to pry Nick’s hands off his neck, but soon gave up and answered sullenly, “I’d heard who Winston was looking for. I told Winston where to find him. It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together. And it wasn’t hard to figure out what Greg would do. I’d do the same thing for Anthony.”

Nick let him go and took a step back. “Greg’s not like you.” He turned to go.

“He’s exactly like me,” Boy said with infuriating calmness. 

That stopped Nick, and he turned back to Boy. “Then why? Why would you help Winston?”

“I wanted to take Greg away from you like you took Anthony away from me,” Boy snarled.

Nick stared. He was beginning to understand. There was a perverse part of him, just a small, sadistic corner, that wanted to hurt Boy as much as he hurt right now. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew he should walk away. _Fuck doing the nice thing. I hate this guy._ He stepped toward Boy, backing him toward the tree. “It didn’t help, though, Boy,” he said, making the name a taunt. “Anthony is going to prison, maybe to Death Row. You know what we found in that shed? Evidence. Blood. DNA. Fibers. Footprints. All the fancy lawyers in the world won’t be able to refute all that.” 

Then Nick turned on his heel and walked away, feeling the warm glow of righteous satisfaction. He crossed the tree line that bordered the gardens, vaguely surprised that Boy hadn’t tried to follow, and nodded wearily to the uniform at the crime scene tape. He’d almost reached the shed when he heard Boy shouting. 

“Hey! Wait!” Boy was running down the garden path toward the taped-off shed.

The cop fingered his side-arm nervously, but Boy stopped a few feet away to catch his breath before speaking. “I want to confess. I did it. I killed James Becker.”  
************************

Nick didn’t dare sit in on the interrogation, but he wasn’t above watching Brass and Grissom tackle this particular witness. Warrick, too, had abandoned the evidence from the shed in favor of seeing the fireworks. Sara showed up five minutes into the session. 

“What’s this about a confession?” she asked as she squeezed in for a view of the interview room. 

“Boy Graham there says he did it,” Warrick said. 

“Okay.” Sara looked skeptical. “And Grissom buys that?”

“We’ll see,” Warrick said, and they all turned their attention to the interview.

“Why didn’t you tell us this before?” Brass was saying.

Boy shrugged. “I thought I’d get away with it.”

“Can you tell us how it happened?” Grissom asked. 

Boy leaned forward on the table, ready to deliver his story. “I got his number from a friend at the club I used to work at.”

“The Power House,” Brass supplied.

Boy nodded. “He auditioned there a couple weeks ago and filled out an application. Anyway, I text messaged him and told him to meet me on Thursday night in the gardens on the grounds at Anthony’s. Said I wanted to finish what he started at Winston’s party.”

“And he came?” Grissom asked.

“Of course he came.” Boy batted his eyelashes at Grissom. “Who could resist?”   
_\-----------------------------_

_Boy smiled when he saw someone coming up the garden path. He’d almost given up hope, but there was James Becker, glancing around suspiciously at every shadow. He jumped off the low wall and trotted down the path to meet James. “It’s about time,” Boy said when he was close enough to be heard. “I’ve been waiting.” He darted in to kiss James, wrapping his arms around the surprised man and pressing their bodies tight together._

_“You little whore,” James said with an eager smile when Boy broke the kiss._

_“Uh huh,” Boy panted, and continued rubbing himself against James. “Come on. I know a better place.”_

_The gardener kept a cot in the tool shed, and that’s where Boy led James, pulling him playfully down dark garden paths. Inside the shed, Boy shut the door, threw the bolt, and turned to see an impatient James Becker standing over him._

_Boy kissed him once more, than sunk to his knees. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. James Becker sneered at him, but did as he asked. Boy grabbed a pruning knife from the table where he’d placed it earlier, and drove it once into James’ chest. James screamed, and Boy drove the curved knife in once more before James was able to push him away. They both fell to the floor. Boy managed to hold onto the knife. He slashed wildly, catching James across the throat. James stopped screaming and fell back, onto the floor._

_Boy drove the knife into James’ chest again, just to be sure. His victim thrashed weakly, but blood was everywhere. It was slippery and made the knife hard to hold; Boy lost his grip and sat back, watching until James stopped moving. Then he went to get a car so he could dump the body.  
\-----------------------_

“So James Becker fought back?” Brass asked.

“Yeah.”

“But you weren’t hurt in the struggle.” Brass said suspiciously.

“Nope.”

Grissom spared a glance for the two-way mirror where the others were watching before pulling a pen out of his pocket, setting it on the table, and addressing Boy. “Would you be willing to sign a statement swearing to what you told us?”

Boy grabbed the pen. “I’ll sign whatever you want.”

“He’s lying,” Sara said to Nick and Warrick in the observation room. 

Warrick gave her a doubtful look. “About what?”

“He didn’t do it,” she said decisively.

“How do you know?” Nick asked.

“See what Grissom did?” she asked smugly. “The pen. Oldest trick in the book. Boy picked it up with his right hand. Killer’s left handed for sure. Wounds are at an angle to the left and down. If Boy was kneeling, like he said, the wounds would have gone at an angle up and to the right.”

“Yeah,” Warrick said. “And that kid’s gotta be a hundred ten, a hundred twenty, soaking wet. No way he could have taken out Becker without getting a scratch. My guess is he’s lying to cover for Anthony Graham.”

“I can never understand why people try to make ridiculous sacrifices like this to keep a loved one out of trouble,” Sara said in disgust. “I mean, does it really help the other person in the long run?”

“Probably not in this case,” Warrick mused. “I’d be surprised if Anthony Graham gets off. What do you think, Nicky? Nicky?” 

Nick was gone.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if there's no possible way to make things right?

Greg was taking his stuff out of the cabinet in the bathroom for the fourth time. _I can’t leave. I have to explain, somehow._ Then he changed his mind again. He began to put the stuff back on the shelf, but paused with his hand on the toothpaste. _Shit, no. I have to leave. Nick is too nice a guy. He doesn’t deserve this trouble. I should have known better than to think this would work. I really care about him, so I should let him go._

A flash of memory suddenly burned in Greg’s mind:   
_Crying in Nick’s bathroom. Jumping up and grabbing Nick when he came in. “Please don’t leave.”  
“I’m not leaving. This is my house.”  
“You’re being intentionally dense. Me. Don’t leave me, Nick.”  
“I won’t, love. I won’t leave you.”_

Greg’s hands were shaking. _Shit. He must feel trapped… I have to give him a reason to leave me and feel righteous about it._ Greg took the toothpaste off the shelf and shoved it into his duffel. _It might hurt him now, but it’ll be for the best in the long run. It has to be._  
**************

“What is the DA thinking?” Sara growled.

Grissom settled into his chair, glad that his desk was between him and a very unhappy Sara. “Probably that convicting someone is better than convicting no one.”

“Even if it’s the wrong person?” she asked venomously.

“It’s possible that Boy didn’t commit the murder,” Grissom said with infuriating calmness. “But there’s evidence to suggest he was in the shed when the murder took place, and that he had a part in dumping the body.” 

“Does he deserve to face murder charges for that?”

“We handle the evidence, Sara. We don’t make those kind of judgments.”

“And you’re going to send one of us to the courtroom to say the evidence says something it doesn’t?”

Grissom glared at her. “There’s not going to be a trial: the DA is pleading him out.”

“Pleading him out?” Sara echoed, narrowing her eyes.

“Second degree murder.”

“Gil, he said in his statement that he lured James Becker to the house to kill him.” 

“And?”

“And that’s premeditation!” Sara said with growing frustration.

“I thought you said he isn’t guilty.”

“He’s not!” she snapped, then took a moment to collect herself. “Gil… It isn’t like you to give up on a case. What’s wrong?”

Grissom dropped his façade of indifference, just a little, and indulged in an apologetic sigh. “I just want this case to be over.” Sensing that there was more to it than that, Sara reached over the desk to take his hand in hers. Grissom continued, “I’m afraid that if we go after Anthony Graham, something’s going to happen to…”

“To…?” Sara prompted. Grissom wouldn’t elaborate, so she took a wild guess. “Is this about Greg?”

Grissom let out another sigh. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Okay.” Sara thought for a moment. “Just so you know, I’d trade Boy’s well-being for Greg’s any day. As deals with the devil go, it wouldn’t be a bad one.”

Grissom managed a small smile. “Thanks.”  
*********

Nick wasn’t sure if it was disappointment or relief he felt when he saw Greg’s Jetta in the driveway. He pulled up next to it and took a few deep, steadying breaths. The house was dark, and though he stood inside the front door listening for almost a full minute, he heard nothing but normal household sounds: the refrigerator compressor clicking on, the whir of a ceiling fan. Somehow, though, Nick knew Greg was here. He headed for the bedroom.

Greg was sitting in the dark on the bed, knees drawn up to his chest, leaning against the headboard. He was wearing one of Nick’s favorite pairs of comfy sweatpants along with Nick’s extra large Rice University hoodie. The clothes made Greg seem tiny. Nick flipped the lights on. Greg blinked, and squinted, but didn’t move.

Nick hadn’t rehearsed what he would say if he found Greg here, but, to his surprise, he still remembered how to talk. “What are you doing here?” It came out harsher than he intended, but at least it was something. 

“Waiting for you to get home,” Greg said carefully.

“I thought you’d be gone.”

“Not yet.”

Nick felt a twist of pain in his stomach at that, but he didn’t let it show. “Boy confessed to James Becker’s murder.”

“Oh.” Greg was just a touch too indifferent. “So, case closed?”

“No. Evidence says he didn’t do it.”

“Oh.”

This wasn’t what Nick wanted to be talking about. Still, funny that seeing Greg had made him think of Boy. Maybe Boy had been right… “He tried to tell me that the two of you are exactly the same,” Nick said.

“Not exactly.” Greg inclined his head, thinking. “Maybe, in some ways. Yes.”

“Why would… Why did you…?” Nick couldn’t come up with the words he needed, but Greg knew, had to know, what he was getting at.

Greg shrugged. “I can’t change my nature. I’m a whore.”

“I seem to remember you telling me pretty emphatically that you weren’t a whore.”

“I’m a liar, too,” Greg said nastily. 

Nick made a hurt sound in the back of his throat, and for a split second he thought he saw Greg flinch. Then again, maybe not. “Winston said that you… bought his silence,” Nick found himself saying. “What was…?

“I have no idea what he meant,” Greg lied. 

“You don’t think I deserve to know? If you did this for me, tell me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me, Greg. Not about this.” Nick was surprised at how determined he sounded, but apparently Greg wasn’t so impressed. He just shrugged, which fanned the flames of Nick’s anger. “You have no right to do something like this and then say it’s because of me, that it’s my fault.”

“I haven’t said anything’s your fault.”

“But it is, isn’t it? You had sex with that guy for—for what?” He advanced toward the bed, but Greg stayed still, watching. “Somehow you thought it would be in my best interest if you fucked Winston Savage? Yeah, what you did was noble, selfless. You know, that’s an excuse for sleeping around I’ve never heard before. It’s for my own good, right?”

Now Greg cringed. “It _was_ for you,” he said softly.

“Then shouldn’t you have asked me if that’s what I wanted? In case you were wondering, no, I don’t want my boyfriend to whore himself out, thank you.”

_Boyfriend?_ “Nick, I…” But Greg couldn’t think of a thing to say that could explain or excuse his actions. Anything he said now would sound like a lie. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Nick said. Then, “Get out.”

Although this was what he’d planned, expected, Greg felt an unexpected sting at the words. He stood, no longer so sure of his brilliant plan. “Nick-” he began.

Nick held up his hand to stop him, and couldn’t meet his eyes. “Get. Out.”  
**********************


	26. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six weeks later.

**_Six weeks later._ **

 

“God damnit!” Nick fumed, pulling yet another strand of fabric out from under the microscope.

Warrick looked up from the footprint casts he was comparing. “No match?”

“What do you think?” Nick realized from Warrick’s chagrined expression that he was shouting. He made an effort to get his temper in check. “Sorry. No, this one’s not a match either.” 

“Do you need any help?” Warrick asked.

Nick grabbed the next evidence bag. “I’ve got it.”

“Do you want--?”

“I said I’ve _got_ it!” Warrick regarded him with a disapproving glare until Nick muttered, “Sorry.” 

“Go outside and have a smoke,” Warrick advised.

“I don’t smoke.”

“It’s a figure of speech, man. Go take a walk. Get your head together.” He shooed Nick away from the evidence table. “I’ll check on our DNA results. Take your time.”

Nick nodded gratefully and made his escape out the back entrance, so he wouldn’t have to pass the DNA lab. The night air was hot, and not as soothing as he’d hoped. He walked. 

Walking took the edge off his temper, but left his mind free to wander. Unfortunately. It always wandered in the same direction, these days. Greg. And thinking of Greg made him angry, then sad, then angry again, and then so ashamed of himself he wanted to cry. It pained him to see how unhappy Greg had been in past weeks, but that wasn’t his business anymore, was it? _Yeah, that’s good old dependable Nick Stokes. Promise to be there to support someone, then kick them out of your bed the moment they need you the most._ Greg had just made him so damn _angry_ that night. If he’d been thinking clearly--.

“Mister Stokes! Mister Stokes!” 

Surprised, Nick turned to see a petite woman hurrying toward him. It was Meg, the Power House manager. _Just what I need,_ Nick fumed. “What are you doing--?”

“I need to say something to you,” she said rapidly. “I knew you wouldn’t see me if I asked, so I just waited out here. So let me say what I need to say, and then I’ll leave you alone. It’s about Greg.”

“I don’t want to hear this.” Nick turned and started back to the lab. Meg fell into step beside him.

“Maybe not, but you’re going to. I think you deserve to know how unforgivably stupid you are. So listen up.” She dug her fingers into Nick’s arm, hard, until he stopped walking. “I’ve known Greg since he moved to Vegas, and in all that time he’s been in love with exactly one person.” Nick tried to pull away, sure that he didn’t want to hear any more, but Meg held on. “I know what he did for you, and I just wanted to tell you how absolutely petty and ungrateful you are for abandoning him because of it.”

Nick felt like he’d been hit with a board. “I--? What?”

“He opens up to you, really starts to trust you, and then he makes a huge sacrifice on your behalf, and how do you repay him? By cutting him out of your life.”

“Greg never said anything…” Nick sputtered. “What sacrifice?”

“Does the name Winston Savage ring a bell?” Meg asked. Nick turned an ugly shade of white. “Yeah, I thought so. Greg _told_ you there would be consequences for talking about Winston Savage’s party. Why didn’t you listen?”

“I…” Nick began.

Meg cut him off. “And here’s the funny thing, Mister Stokes. Here is what I find hilarious. Winston Savage didn’t go after Greg until he had something he knew he could use against him.” Nick stared blankly. “You! You, you self-righteous jerk!” Meg shouted. “All Winston had to do was threaten _you_ , and Greg folded. He did what he did for you. I hope you’re happy.”

“No, I’m not happy!” Nick blurted. “How could I be happy?”

Meg snorted. “News flash, cowboy: he’s miserable too. He lost the one person he thinks he could have been happy with. And if you wanted to, you could fix that.”

 _If only that was true, I’d give anything to-._ Nick shut down that line of thought, retreating into doubt. “What does it matter to Greg, anyway? He probably just moved on to the next--.”

“Bite your tongue,” Meg said warningly, dangerously. “He hasn’t come back to work at the Power House, if you must know, and he hasn’t even been with anyone since you told him so eloquently just how little you value him as a person.”

“Yeah?” Nick laughed humorlessly. “Then why do I see his car at the club?” Meg started, and Nick realized how he’d implicated himself. “I’ve driven by a few times,” he said lamely.

Meg narrowed her eyes at him. “He comes by to cry on my shoulder, and to see his _real_ friends. Apparently things have been different between him and the other CSIs, what with his _demotion_ and all. He’s needed someone to talk to.”

“So he hasn’t…?” Nick asked hopefully.

“No. He told you he’d give up working for me, and he has. It’s been hard for him, but he’s done it. I just wish you’d been as serious about your promises to him as he was about his promises to you.” Meg gave him one more disgusted shake of her head, and walked away.  
********************

Warrick came into the lab and snatched a sheet of results off the printer. “Those aren’t--,” Greg began, but Warrick waved his hand dismissively and cut him off with, “Yeah, yeah,” as he walked out of the lab.

“…Your results,” Greg finished under his breath, and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from shouting a snappy comeback about not understanding what one was looking at. It wouldn’t do any good to start a fight with Warrick. Too bad. They hadn’t ever been tight, exactly, but since The Mistake (as Greg had taken to calling his decision to goad Nick into leaving him), Warrick had been downright cold. Not that Greg blamed him. Warrick had always been Nick’s best friend, and that’s what friends were for, right? To give the cold shoulder to selfish, destructive, unfaithful former lovers who’d maliciously inflicted egregious pain on said best friend. _I’d hate me, too._ Greg mused as he printed off another copy of the results Warrick had taken. _In fact, I do._

Greg wasn’t sure how much Warrick, or anyone else at CSI, knew about what had happened, but there was certainly lots of gossip going around about why he was back in the lab. One rumor said that he’d had a nervous breakdown, another that he’d worn one too many loud shirts in the sheriff’s presence, still another that he’d made inappropriate advances toward Jim Brass. Greg couldn’t help but half-smile at that last one. He had little enough to smile about these days. Surprisingly, Hodges hadn’t said word one about what he’d seen in the lab the day he cut off Greg’s shirt. With Hodges’ penchant for wild speculation, that was nothing short of amazing. _Never look a gift horse in the mouth, right?_ Greg reminded himself. 

He ducked out of the lab, deftly avoiding his fellow lab rats who, after their initial frenzy for rumor-mill fodder, had welcomed him back like the proverbial prodigal son. He felt a little pang of guilt for his evasion, but talking to his lab friends was more difficult than it used to be. The more they tried to draw him back into their circle, the more he found himself pulling away. He missed them, too, but mostly, he missed Nick. Or maybe the idea of Nick. The idea of what could have been if Greg himself wasn’t such a stupid, damaged, worthless--. 

He knocked on Grissom’s office door. Grissom looked up and waved him in. “Your DNA results,” Greg said, handing him the paper. “I thought you’d want them before someone else took the print-out.” Okay, maybe delivering results to the boss’s office was a bit like sucking up, but Greg had resolved weeks ago that he would rebuild Grissom’s trust in him. _Because even former sex workers can be good scientists._ He suppressed a smile.

Grissom was looking over the sheet. “So the blood belongs to the sister?”

“Half sister, yeah,” Greg said. “Different fathers, apparently. See? Only half the markers are the same.”

“Thanks Greg.” 

Greg nodded, accepting the dismissal, and headed out. “Hey Greg. Close the door,” Grissom said suddenly.

Greg came back into the office and shut the door behind him as his internal monologue went into overdrive. _I can’t possibly be demoted again… And if he was going to fire me, he probably wouldn’t tell me to my face… Therefore this must be something good. Yeah, right._

“There’s been a development in an old case I thought you might be interested in,” Grissom said.

“Yeah?”

“The Becker murder.”

“Oh.” _That_ case. Greg would sooner forget that case, if it was all the same to Grissom. 

“There’s a new witness against Anthony Graham: Boy has agreed to testify.”

“But…” In spite of himself, Greg was curious. “Why would he--? Why now?”

“It seems he was perfectly willing to sacrifice himself for Mister Graham until he found out that his former employer had acquired a replacement for him.” 

Greg almost smiled. “So, Boy’s got a jealous streak.”

“Luckily for us.”

“Well… That’s nice.” And it was nice, sort of, to know that a case so closely entwined to a terrible period in his life would finally be over. Still, bringing Anthony Graham to justice was a moot point, as far as Greg was concerned. It didn’t undo The Mistake.

“Greg, why do you think you’re not in the field any more?” Grissom asked. 

Greg stared for a moment. _You know perfectly well why I’m not in the field, asshole,_ he thought darkly. What he said was, “I’m not sure.”

“Greg, a CSI in the field is the public face of the crime lab,” Grissom began. “He represents the whole team. He’s open to public scrutiny.”

“Okay,” Greg said warily.

“Two months ago, if you had come under public scrutiny, it could have been very damaging to the lab,” Grissom explained. 

Greg knew, intellectually, that what Grissom said was true, but it didn’t seem fair, somehow. After all, Catherine had been a stripper. What he’d done wasn’t so different. And anyway, that wasn’t his life any more.

“But I know that you’ve… made some changes.” Greg didn’t want to think about how Grissom knew _that_. “And I think you have a talent for field work. After this case winds up with Anthony Graham, I’d like to discuss putting you back in the field, at least on a trial basis.”

Greg blinked a couple times. “I’d like that.”

Grissom almost smiled, didn’t quite. “Okay then. Thanks for the results.”

Greg knew a dismissal when he heard one, so he got up and wandered out of the office. _Reinstated…_. Greg tried the word out in his head, finding he liked the feel of it. _It’s only a maybe,_ he reminded himself swiftly. Still, the thought was so tantalizing, so distracting, that he almost ran in to someone in the hallway. “Sorry,” he said quickly, and looked up to see Nick. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, almost involuntarily. “Really. Sorry.”

Nick nodded, as if he’d understood more than Greg had said. He lifted a hand to Greg’s face, almost touching. 

“Hey Nick. You coming?” Warrick barked from down the hall.

Nick pulled his hand back quickly, and Greg looked in time to catch an angry glare from Warrick. The two headed off down the hall, but Nick glanced back at Greg for the briefest of moments, and smiled.

 _Nick_ smiled _at me._ Warrick could play protective-best-friend all he wanted. Greg didn’t care. That moment was the closest thing to real, human contact, to forgiveness, that he’d seen out of Nick since The Mistake. 

The lab seemed less bleak for the rest of the shift, especially with the possibility that he might be reinstated. A possibility only but, still, he could hope. When the clock struck seven, Greg plodded to the locker room, tired, but optimistic for the first time in weeks. Maybe he’d go home...alone... and treat himself to a nice glass of Merlot… alone… in his apartment… alone. _Baby steps,_ he reminded himself. _New development in that damn case, Grissom might put me back in the field. What else can go right?_ Greg opened his locker, but froze when he realized his stuff had been moved. 

Inside the locker, on the top shelf, was a single rose and a square of paper. Greg picked up the paper, slowly, hesitantly. There were just four words in Nick’s neat, cramped writing. 

It said simply, “Can we start again?”

Greg smiled.

**End.**


End file.
